


Make A Choice

by WanderingTiredly



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dependency, Developing Relationship, Drama, Enabler, M/M, Minor Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons, Minor Felix | Isaac Gates/Locus | Samuel Ortez, Minor Sarge/Emily Grey, Needy Wash, Oblivious Tucker, POV Tucker, Possessive Behavior, Sad Ending, Smut, Wash needs to chill, a few oc's but that's because this show has like no women smh, minor Tucker/female oc's, since none of the women in the show would actually sleep with tucker rip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2019-07-14 13:26:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 62,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16041377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingTiredly/pseuds/WanderingTiredly
Summary: Tucker knows better than anyone that Wash doesn't respond well to his friends being endangered. He knows how much Wash despises being ignored and how he fears being abandoned. Tucker knows all of this--he just underestimated just exactly what it all meant.





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> This idea was inspired by both my lovely beta, PeculiarProjects, and the RvB guide and the lovely light it shed on our favorite resident guy Freelancer. It seemed to me that Wash has A LOT of layers in which he has the ability to hold grudges, get a bit possessive of people he considers family, etc. Not to mention the canon of him being both a badass, hardass, and awkward ass, all in one. And how that all balances out. 
> 
> It turned into this shitstorm of an ongoing story.

The first one to bring it up to Tucker was Sarge, surprisingly. The elder man put a firm hand on his shoulder in concern,  the both of them out of armor, looking a bit worried.

 

“Listen, Blue,” he began. “That fella over there,” he gestured to the soldier who knocked Tucker on his ass while sparring, “Wash doesn’t seem to like him awfully much. You should, uh, check on it.”

 

And with that, he turned and walked over to bark something at Donut, who insisted that the recruits _required_ brief yoga sessions before and after training to keep _all_ of their muscles loose. He put a bit too much enunciation on a few words, and Tucker felt it fit to just tune Red Team antics out.

 

Tucker glanced over to Wash instead. The sight he received made him twitch anxiously, actively thinking, _Oh shit, what now?_ Tucker didn’t like the Fed that got the jump on him and would go as far to say he was racist--or speciest, if that was a word--because he said nasty things about Tucker’s son. Despite how things ended with Tucker being swept onto the ground, Tucker left him with a bloody nose and the beginning of a nasty shiner.

 

Tucker hesitantly headed over to Wash who flexed his fingers in a way that he might not have even noticed. Tucker honestly wouldn’t have picked up on it, would it not been for the frequency of it occurring. Wash always seemed tense like that. He made sure to announce his arrival to Wash when he stood a few feet away--safety was always a genuine concern when it came to Wash’s reflexes.

 

“Tucker, what can I do for you?” His tone didn’t match his words and his posture remained rigid and cold. Not to mention he didn’t glance Tucker’s way once, instead steadfastly gazing at something behind Tucker.

  
Tucker decided not to give it much thought. “Just checking in on my favorite, resident hardass,” he stated, and the words drew Wash’s blue eyes to his own. Wash balled his hands into a fist and brought them to his mouth to try and hide the small smile that crept onto his face.

 

“Well, if you must know, I’m just peachy, Tucker.” He tried to sound irritated, but it fell flat and revealed he was really worrying about something. Tucker rolled his eyes and chuckled, but Wash stiffened suddenly, eyes trained on a familiar retreating figure. It was the bitter Fed. “I never trained him, what’s his name?”

 

“Who, him?” At Wash’s grumble, Tucker answered absentmindedly with the wave of his hand, “Parks.” He watched with Wash to see where the officer went next. “I broke his nose for ripping on Junior and then for tackling me to the gr--”

 

Wash turned to face him abruptly, eyes hard. “He bad mouthed your family _and_ pushed you to the ground?” Tucker cast him a wary look. Sarge had been right. Wash was acting weird, or at the least, weirder than usual.

 

“Uh, yeah dude. I trained in the Republic. He’s gonna find any reason to slander me,” he said pointedly. “Just because all of Chorus has to work together, doesn’t mean they like it.” Tucker just shrugged and grabbed Wash’s water bottle. “Example A,” he muttered, before tipping it back and drenching himself. Successfully removing the gleaming sweat and replacing it with shiny beads of fresh water, he shook his dreads carefully, and turned to face Wash.

 

Wash’s eyes lingered on his adam’s apple, and then on his face for a brief moment--an unreadable expression, as always. Tucker didn’t know what it was, so he decided on labeling it as something akin to shock. He burst into laughter when Wash coughed awkwardly.

 

Wash ignored Tucker’s recovering snickers and rubbed at the back of his freckled neck. “You, Captain Tucker, never fail to surprise me.”

 

Tucker beamed and nudged him, a fond smile coming over his features. He never had this friendship with Church, and certainly not with Caboose. He’d never had a friend who he felt like he could trust and have witty but not hateful banter with. “You’re not so bad yourself.” He pushed his shoulder lightly. “Bitch.”

 

“Moron,” Wash responded, just as quick. Wash sent him a slight head nod before rushing off--always busy, busy, busy, always with things to do. Tucker couldn’t even fathom what the man did to keep himself so occupied, and perhaps he never would.

 

And surely, it was a coincidence when Officer Parks ended up in the med bay later, after tripping down the stairs.


	2. 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker deals with Grif and Simmons' shared concerns--of which he doesn't care. Red Team drama, man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanted to post a second chap right away, to like, you know, let y'all in on what the story will be like.  
> thanks to my beta PeculiarProjects who ALWAYS is there for me, bless your heart honey. you should read her stuff.  
> enjoy! xx

The second time, it was brought up by Grif and Simmons, together as always. Tucker, flirt extraordinaire, chatted up Private Montes and found himself interrupted by his maroon ‘friend.’ “Look, Tucker, would you mind... talking to Wash? He’s made Grif run extra laps for seemingly no reason,” Simmons told him, searching for some sympathy.

 

“Uh, that’s not exactly surprising. Grif probably stole some more rations. Who gives a shit? Other than Wash, I guess.”

 

Simmons pursed his lips. “I know, and you already know _I’d_ like to to believe that. Seeing Grif... struggle, while entertaining--”

 

“ _You_ would think so—bow chicka bow wow.”

 

“...while entertaining, it’s more productive if he helps me with my new color coding system for the armory. If you recall, Private Palomo—”

 

Tucker really didn’t want to hear it. He wanted to continue to hit on Montes. “Jesus Christ, shut up Simmons. I’ve got places to go. People to fuck. Can you hurry up this seminar I don’t want to hear?” Tucker yawned dramatically, covering his mouth for effect. He took a moment to glance over Wash’s way.

 

Wash honestly looked great. His jaw was clenched, his eyes fiery; if Tucker felt like swinging his bat at that, he honestly would. He couldn’t figure out what Simmons was talking about, a bit too distracted by his former C.O. until he saw Grif in genuine distress, trying to make another lap around the room.

 

Tucker decided to label it as not his problem. After all, Red Team drama wasn’t something he tried to keep up on. “Is this your way of asking me to do something?”

 

“Yes!” Simmons pleaded, gesturing to Wash who seemed to be stirring in his anger. “Stop hitting on Montes and help!” he yelled, a little too loud. Classic Red Team. Always causing issues in the canyon, Valhalla, and Chorus because they had no goddamn filter.

 

“Private Grif, if you stop running right now, you’ll just gain another lap!” Wash shouted in his usual authoritative tone. Tucker was all too familiar with Wash’s control issues. Sometimes it seemed like the man came up with bullshit just to stay in charge. Tucker had to assume that Wash probably wasn’t very used to being in control. After all, everything with him and Carolina a few years back just proved how easily Wash would fall into the role of following orders.      

 

Grif groaned, “Fuck off, Wash.” Wash didn’t rise to the bait.

 

“See, look, he’s just telling Grif to run, with no goal other than to run. Did you see _that_? God, fucking Reds.”

 

“Well, do something about it! Or I’ll get Caboose.”

 

Tucker threw his hands in the air. Why does everyone keep saying they’ll sic’ Caboose on him? “You’re an awful person, whom I hate,” he said, not thinking about his use of the word ‘whom’. He should've, damn him, he should've just used poor grammar.

 

Simmons brightened. “That was an appropriate use of ‘whom’, Tucker! I’m so glad other people around here are well-read--”

 

Tucker groaned. “Holy shit, I’ll go get Wash, just stop talking like we’re friends.”

 

With a turn of his back, he was leaving the maroon soldier in the dust. He thought about how loud his armor sounded as it clacked against the floor, trying to focus on anything that wasn’t Simmons’ voice inviting him over to compare notes sometime. As if Tucker would have any notes for anything.

 

“Grif, quit running,” Tucker called, making a dramatic entrance. He learned from Tex that announcing your arrival with either ass-kicking or an authoritative sentence was the best way to gain some respect. Well, she never said anything like that to him, but that seemed to be how she always did it. And clearly, it worked.

 

Wash snapped his distant gaze to Tucker, “Ah, Priva- er, Captain Tucker, glad to see you stopped harassing Montes to come over and visit me. You can go, Grif,” he dismissed, and Grif sent Tucker a weary look. As if he were mad at _Tucker._

 

“I’m a Captain, Wash, which is technically a higher rank than Agent. Agent Washington.” He grinned, “which means I’m in charge. So, drop and give me twenty soldier.”

 

Wash rolled his eyes in his usual exasperated way. “Sure thing, Captain.” Quietly, he added, “Smartass.”

 

“Yeah well, rank is privilege, as you so often reminded me in the canyon. Now, did I stutter? I want some pushups out of you! I’m in charge, on your knees soldier, Tucker pressed, and Wash brought a hand to rub at his neck in attempt to hide his embarrassment. Tucker came on a little strong with that one--even he had to admit. Though, the other implications of the sentence were rather hot.

 

He let himself get lost talking to Wash. It felt so normal in the strange circumstances they kept finding themselves in. A tap on his shoulder brought him out of the trance he’d fallen into. Behind him, Private Montes pointed over to a brooding Grif on the other side of the room.

 

“Captain Tucker, sir.” The way she chewed her lip and played innocent. Two words: fucking hot.

 

Tucker winked. “I thought I said drop the formalities in private, Montes. But if you wanna keep calling me sir, well...” She blushed.

 

Wash tapped his foot impatiently, looking at Tucker, an exasperated look laced with frustration. Tucker barely caught the expression, but figured he could push it off as nothing important enough to worry about. “What’d you need, Montes?”

 

“Well sir.” She rubbed at her warm cheeks, realizing she fell into Tucker’s trap. “Well, Captain Grif wanted to talk to you. He said it was urgent. And a few other choice words.” Tucker dropped his hand onto her frail shoulder, laughing.

 

“I’ll head over there now, thanks Montes. Dismissed.” The recruit jogged off, catching up with a girl in tan and maroon armor--was that Volleyball? Even hotter.

 

Wash shot him an unimpressed stare. “You two seem awfully familiar with each other.” If Tucker didn’t know better, he’d say Wash was jealous that Tucker had game. Tucker shook the thought. That couldn’t be it, Wash seemed like the kind of guy to repress those urges completely. Although, another part of him thought devilishly, Wash also seemed like he could be a kinky bastard. Maybe Carolina knew? That seemed like something that got talked about at Freelancer. Or it didn’t, who cares? Any reason to talk sex with Carolina, Tucker was in for.

 

“She was in Simmons’ squad. Lucky man, goddamn.” He watched Volleyball and Montes round the corner to exit the training room. “I mean, look at her ass.”

 

“Tucker, you do know I’m interested in exclusively men? We have talked about this.” Had they? Whoops, Tucker had forgotten.

 

Tucker shrugged. “Hey man, if you don’t appreciate it... Besides, I swing both ways. With my sword. It’s an energy sword.” He caught Wash’s eye so he could wink suggestively. “I hate to say it, but it was actually Donut who got me on the train.” He stopped to think about what he just said.

 

“Uh, what?”

 

Wash looked a mix between agitated and disconcerted. His posture closed up, and his arms crossed defensively. Was it because it grossed him out? The thought of that? It sure grossed Tucker out. He absolutely, positively, did not want to think about getting with Donut.

 

“Wait, wait, wait, no. No, no, no. I mean to say he said something to me, and it made sense, so I stuck with it. ‘If you like both, you double the pool, double the chances to get laid, Tucker,’ and I was like, ‘fuck yeah, that’s great!’ so that’s that.” Tucker even did Donut’s high voice in impression, earning a soft smile from Wash.

 

“He doesn’t sound like that,” Wash argued lightly.

 

Tucker snorted. “You’re wrong, he definitely does. You’re just too nice to him.”

 

Wash winced guiltily. “I shot him, Tucker. I kind of owe it to him. He didn’t have to let me stay with you, and yet he did. I can never thank him enough.” Tucker patted his arm reassuringly, while Wash and him both pretended not to notice how comfortably Wash sank into the touch. Wash’s eyes almost seemed distant when he looked at Tucker. “Don’t you have to go talk to Grif?”

 

Tucker shrugged. “I don’t _have_ to do anything.” Wash sent him a flat look. “But I’m going to. Stay here, don’t bother anyone while I’m gone.”

 

Wash sputtered indignantly while Tucker walked away. His mental goal to reach the large orange soldier hunched in the corner, looking like he was eating. How Grif managed to eat immediately after the exercise Wash put him through, Tucker would never know. Though--if he thought about it enough--the workout probably wasn’t that intense, considering, you know, it was Grif.

 

He strutted confidently over to his favorite Red Team member, since the two of them had a mutual understanding about avoiding tasks. “Dexter Grif, my good friend--”

 

“You motherfucker! You have some nerve! Waltzing over here, you fuck!” Grif shouted, and Tucker shrank under his angry tone. “Wash was a total dick. It’s your fault! If you would quit fucking around, trying to fuck everyone--” Tucker tried to count how many times Grif said fuck.

 

“How is it my fault!?” Tucker exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. Sarge had said something to him earlier along the same wavelength.

 

_“Our Wash fella ain’t talkin’ right. He’s been a dirtbag for seemingly no reason! I won’t stand for it! We claimed truce!”_

 

Tucker had cocked his head to the side in complete confusion. “ _And, I’m sorry to hear that? But what does that have to do with me getting food?”_

 

_“What doesn’t it have to do! As soon as something involves you, it involves him. You Blues and your goddamn problems!”_

 

Grif sneered at him. “How isn’t it? As soon as you played _ring toss_ with Montes, he started taking out his anger on me! Fuck off, Blue. I’m going to the mess hall.” Grif roughly pushed past his shoulder, leaving Tucker to stand off-balance in the old training room.

 

He watched Grif’s retreating figure, as he stormed through, flipping Wash off as he exited. Tucker had done the same thing many times, flipping off Wash was almost second nature. Except when Tucker did it, he normally didn’t mean it. He normally was joking with Wash and would nudge his shoulder before he left the freelancer.

 

Tucker felt bad for Grif, but still didn’t see how it was his fault. Tucker hit on girls all the time, did Wash just not see it? Was it a punishment for slacking off? Turning his friends against him? Well, it was working. Tucker didn’t want to slack off anymore, he wanted to go do a set of workouts, burn off some of the guilt and frustration he shouldn’t need to be feeling.

 

Wash jogged over to him, looking completely composed, sidling up next to Tucker in that way he didn’t do with anyone else. Wash _trusted_ Tucker, and in return Tucker trusted him back. Though, Tucker would be lying if he said he hadn’t been skeptical to trust anyone.

 

“Tucker, I don’t have another lesson with troops until 1300. Wanna grab lunch?” he asked, catching Tucker’s eye with a disarming smile.

 

How on earth did Grif think that Wash was so bad? Sure, he was overbearing, but it’s not like it was overwhelming. He only acted that way when Tucker or Caboose was in danger. He remembered that time vibrantly, when he leveled his gun at Carolina’s head, threatening to off her for putting her gun against Tucker’s head.

 

He contemplated how violently Wash had reacted, how stiff he had been for the days following, until Tucker could pry another reaction from him. But, all of that was just because Wash cared. And while it could sometimes be a bit too much, it’s not like Tucker couldn’t handle it. He hadn’t been in danger for a while, so there was nothing that could really set him off.

 

Tucker grinned, “Yeah, sure dude. Sounds good to me.”

 

He didn’t catch Grif and Simmons’ dirty look when he walked into the cafeteria.

 


	3. 3.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker returns from a mission and things seem to be a bit off around base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again to my lovely beta, peculiarprojects. you should read her stuff bc she's more talented than me! enjoy! <3

 

The third time, it was a perky pink soldier over the radio who seemed surprisingly less cheerful than normal. Tucker had recently returned--about ten minutes ago--arriving back from his run to an abandoned weapons cache, stocked loosely with some older models of the rocket launchers. He remembered Simmons was fond of them after Sarge introduced him to them. With that small find was a more lucky one: an assortment of bullets. At least they wouldn’t run out of those any time soon.

 

Donut’s usually chirpy voice wasn’t exactly gone, but it didn’t sound as assured as normal. “Hey, Captain Tucker, I know you’re needed for debriefing in the war room but... is there anyway I can steal your attention? It’s kind of dire?”

 

Tucker scoffed. “More dire than Kimball yelling at me?” But, with Donut’s insistence, he sighed. “Yeah, sure, where are you?”

 

“Um, outside of your room?” He seemed genuinely upset and rather unsure of whether or not that’s where he was. Tucker scowled, trying to understand just what the fuck was going on. Not only did Grif tell him to stay away, but Simmons refused to acknowledge his recent comment about the usefulness of heat seeking. Even Sarge had been reluctant to talk to him recently.

 

At least Caboose spoke to him. As much as Tucker dreaded his questions about basic math, it was nice to have a companion. Well, other than Wash, that was. Wash always seemed too busy with something to really spend time with him, but always got on his ass when he took a few moments to be on break with others.

 

Tucker jogged lightly through the halls. As much as he liked it when Kimball would raise her voice--what? It was hot--if he could move quickly enough to avoid another scolding, he’d really appreciate it. Besides, Wash would just give him the same lecture after. “On my way,” he responded.

 

Donut hummed into his mic. “Is there... any chance you could come faster? At all?” Tucker rolled his eyes but picked up the pace. His room wasn’t far now. He was on the third floor of a standard Armonian apartment--If Tucker had said it once, he would say it again: the Feds had way more room, and it was a blessing.

 

Tucker drew to a fast walk, surprisingly not gassed. Take that, Grif, training really did pay off. Don’t ever tell Agent Hardass that, though. “Donut!” He waved down the anxious soldier, who only wore the bottom half of his power armor, his kevlar suit covered in sparkles framed his top half.

 

“Thank god you’re here.” Donut breathed a sigh of relief. “Man, I had no idea it was this bad.”

 

Tucker took off his helmet so that Donut could be level with his confused stare. With one hitched eyebrow, he bothered to ask, “What’s so bad?”

 

“Tucker, did you... tell anyone you had a mission today?” Donut questioned cryptically.

 

Tucker threaded his eyebrows together, scratching his nose. “I don’t fucking know. I just picked it up. Palomo’s got a fever, I’m his Captain--I just took it,” he paused. “Maybe I mentioned it to Caboose? I don’t know?”

 

Donut nodded. “I see.” When a few moments of silence passed in which nothing happened, Tucker rotated his wrist trying to get Donut to continue. “Well, look, maybe, don’t do that in the future?”

 

“What the fuck?”

 

Donut winced, rubbing at his eyes. “I’ve had a pretty long day trying to figure this out, so, I’m just going to leave this for you. I need some wine. But Tucker, listen to me when I say, you need to tell your team when you do that, okay? Just... for the best.”

 

The smaller man turned to leave, and Tucker was content to let him. “You reds say the craziest shit, sometimes. Goddamn.”

 

Halting in his steps, Donut pivoted around to face him. “Excuse me? Say that again?”

 

“You Reds! You keep saying weird shit to me!”

 

Donut’s eyes looked more confused than Tucker had seen in a long time. “This isn’t... the first time? My goodness. You need to go in there, now.” The blonde said forcefully, gesturing to the door.

 

Tucker threw his hands in the air. “Yeah, Christ!” Donut rolled his eyes, and swiveled around to leave. Tucker didn’t watch him go, but took a minute to glance where he thought he’d see his retreating figure. Funnily enough, Donut was already out of sight. “What in the fuck--”

 

He opened the door to reveal Wash, buried in his bed, wearing loose clothing--not his suit, not his under armour--holding Tucker’s pillows to his face. “Um, Wash?” Firstly, what the hell was the freelancer doing in his room? Secondly, how did he get in his room?

 

Wash scrambled in the blankets, exhausted eyes on Tucker. Bags hung beneath them, and he practically launched himself at Tucker. “Tucker! Where in the fuck were you? I tell you once, I’ve told you a thousand times! Always report in to me!”

 

Tucker stood, trying to recover from the shock that Agent Washington, resident asshole, man who’s never received affection, total hardass, was hugging him. Tightly, might Tucker add. While their height difference wasn’t normally that obvious, with Tucker wearing his armor, he gained another two inches over the blonde. Not to mention how invasive it was that Wash just kind of... took over his room. Despite being a bit unsettled and hoping Wash didn’t go through his stuff, he muscled through it and answered Wash’s question.

 

“I checked out that cache we discovered on a scouting mission. Before you can say it--this one was Republic oriented, you don’t have to worry.” Ever since Parks had left that bruise on his backside, Wash had been hesitant to allow Tucker alone with potential animosity. Tucker continuously assured him, no, not all of the Feds were a threat, but Wash seemed pretty insistent. That man was more stubborn than anyone he’d ever met. And he knew Tex and Church.

 

Wash tried to level his breathing, burying his head in Tucker’s neck. “No one would tell me where you were, I thought--” He hissed out a sound Tucker had never heard before. “Don’t pull that shit again, Captain Tucker.”

 

The change of mood threw Tucker in whiplash. What the fuck was Wash on about now? And why would it matter if he went on missions anyway? It’s not like he and Wash were on a need-to-know basis. “Wash, what are you talking about? Seriously, aren’t you being crazy here?” Especially because, you know, the general discouragement of breaking into people’s rooms.

 

Wash pulled back abruptly, looking hurt. His eyes twinkled with confusion, pain, and then suddenly, hard with anger. “I’m being crazy? Maybe I just want to know where my team is! Hell, I still have a tracker on Caboose.”

 

“A fucking tracker?” He realized that it probably wasn’t that shocking. Caboose was prone to making poor decisions. “You... you don’t have one on me, right?”

 

Wash huffed, looking away. “No, but I’d like to. You guys are so unpredictable, and I can’t take care of you if you’re not in my sight.” His fingers were twitching again, looking like they wanted to grab something. Tucker should have been less surprised when they finally did. Wash dove back into a close grip, tangling his fingers in Tucker’s dreads. “I can’t lose you. I can’t lose Caboose. You’re my team, I won’t.”

Tucker nodded, not really holding Wash back, still too stunned to do anything at all. “You won’t, Wash.” Tucker hesitantly returned the hold, letting Wash lean into him.

 

With a sigh, Wash deflated comfortably. “I wish you could promise that.”

 

“I can--I, Wash, I promise you won’t lose us.” Tucker was still completely, and utterly baffled. This wasn’t like the Wash he knew--or at least, most of the time. He’d seen this person back at the crash site when Tucker would yell back at him about Church. He’d seen this person when Carolina pointed a gun to his head. He’d seen this person when they were first reunited. But what triggered it? Or, really, had it ever actually gone away? “Wash, what’s wrong? This isn’t you.”

 

Wash extracted himself from the hug, roughly, turning to head back to Tucker’s bed. He practically leaped into it, lifting the blankets to encase himself in them. “If I were to lose you...” he trailed off, “Tucker, I need you.”

 

Tucker tried to keep the small smile off of his face--Focus, Tucker, figure out the subject at hand, not feel good that someone doesn’t want to leave you--he began to take off some of his power armor. Stripping his gauntlets aside, next his shoulder pads, and then chest piece, until his torso was clear of pieces.

 

Wash watched, eyes looking lost in a way Tucker hadn’t ever seen before. Tucker always noticed that most times Wash was feeling this way, he’d bury himself in layers of armor and suppress these feelings. As it seemed, today was to be an exception. He bit down on his lip, fingers still moving absently.

 

“Wash, I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Wash made a soft sound. “But you did, and I can’t change that. And neither can you.” Tucker stepped closer, footsteps echoing in the silence of his quaint room. “I just wish you and Caboose would always be safe. I even want to keep the Reds safe.”

 

“And Carolina,” Tucker added, but that was implied. Sarge had declared her a Red last month, and Church was the only one who complained. “But Wash, I can take care of myself. So can they--well, maybe not Caboose, but, you get the gist.”

 

“I know you can!” he retorted, defensively. Tucker lowered himself to the foot of the bed, and Wash quickly pushed himself up so that they were shoulder to shoulder.  “I know that, but that doesn’t make me want that any more. When I didn’t know where you were all day today, when no one had time to tell me, when Donut didn’t know--it fucking killed me, Tucker. I’ve lost person, after person. I will not lose you. I would kill... listen, Tucker. I don’t like what this is making me. But the thoughts I’m having...”

 

Tucker pressed off the bed, pulling his forearm out of the way where Wash had tried to grasp it desperately. “Wash, you’re scaring me, dude.” Wash shook his head, just as upset as Tucker for a moment. “Talk to me.”

 

“I would do anything for you and Caboose, and if someone were to manipulate that, it wouldn’t be good. If I had to choose you guys, my team, or this planet--” he cut himself off. “You’re my team.” Eyes grew frantic. “You guys are mine, right? You’re not gonna leave?” He bit his tongue, eyebrows drawn together, fear stabbing his stomach.

 

Tucker slowly lowered himself back into Wash’s area. “No, Wash, of course we aren’t. Caboose and I have been abandoned enough to know what that’s like.”

 

“Is this normal? This is normal, this has to be,” Wash reasoned.

 

No, it wasn’t normal. Tucker knew that. It wasn’t normal at all. It was one thing to be worried. It was another to be violently obsessed. It was another to have complete and total breakdowns when something like this happened. It wasn’t normal that Wash needed him and Caboose so much, wasn’t normal he would slaughter others because he refused to endanger them ever again. It wasn’t normal that Wash had so much guilt from years in the past that he would do anything to prevent a similar scenario.

 

“Sure, Wash. You’re just worried, that’s all. You’ve always been a worrywart.”

 

Wash’s face softened at the words. He was right next to Tucker. For once, his fingers were still, and seemed at a relative peace. Because Tucker was just within reach. He rested his head on his shoulder. “At least today’s your day off,” Tucker joked.

 

“I spent it in a panicked haze, Tucker,” Wash said, stony faced before laughing. “But yeah, at least.” Wash seemed to be getting awfully comfortable.

 

“Can I go?” Tucker asked, ignoring that this was his room.

 

Wash looked like he wanted to say eight different things at once. His eyes hazed over again, hands going to cover his racing heart. “Tucker, could you--”

 

“Great. See you later,” Tucker interrupted, not sure he really wanted to stick around to see what Wash’s brain planned to say next. He was still recovering from earlier. He pushed himself up and out of Wash’s reach. Wash blindly reached after but Tucker pretended he didn’t see it. “I gotta talk to Kimball, maybe chat her up while I’m at it.”

 

Wash gaped, closing his eyes tight for just a second. “Tucker--”

 

“Gotta go!” The last thing he saw were Wash’s fingers beginning to twitch again, and he tried to repress the rest. Before he left completely, he stopped in the doorway. “And Wash? You should probably... sleep in your own bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is still a shorter chapter, eventually the word count is gonna jump up to about 7,000 per chapter. it was just a rather slow start, tbh. so, cheers to that!


	4. 4.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker's late night activities become something Wash has heard about. And of course, there was a mission failure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an OC in this chapter who Tucker has slept with! I wanted everyone to know in case you don't like that sort of thing. The only reason I made an OC is because the pre-existing women in the show are either too young for Tucker, or would murder him before ever sleeping with him.

The fourth time time it happened, it was a couple days after Tucker had slipped out of a neighboring Captain's room, for one of the many and most recent late night scandals. It was a Captain Lelou of the New Republic, a more seasoned veteran, one of the very few in the military who had survived the many perils, that was. Earlier, he’d had her legs hooked over his shoulder and his name on her lips.

 

It was the next day, Kimball, over a PA system when he was in a gymnasium turned training facility, requested he report to her office immediately. The matter sounded less urgent than normal, but he knew better than to leave her to wait.

 

He told Caboose he seemed to be needed elsewhere, reminding him that even if he didn’t need a spotter, it was safer to have one. Mainly for everyone else and not him. Caboose was prone to throwing his weights after he was done using them. Practically launching them, arms flexing, and--in a super gross fashion, girls would fawn over him--Caboose wasn’t safe to leave without a word or two of advice. He tiredly trudged through the room, thankful no one was watching him.

 

In the hallway he crossed paths with Wash, but didn’t spare him much of a glance. Things had been a bit weird, still, for the past few days. Wash staring after him, Wash trying to catch his attention, the usual things he did, except now Tucker was aware. Now Tucker knew something was up, and he promised it wouldn’t change how he felt but--seriously, what the fuck?

 

How could Wash say such dark things, and not expect Tucker to retaliate like this? How could Wash think those emotions were normal? Had he always had that level of issue? What was he like during Freelancer? And, really, did Carolina have any idea about this?

 

He tried not to notice Wash lean against the wall, clutching at it for support. He promised himself he wouldn’t feel guilty about this shit. And thankfully, he didn’t have to. Captain Lelou strutted his way, her usual confidence oozing with swagger as her hips swayed tantalizingly. “Captain Tucker, it’s so good to see you.” She blinked quickly, fluttering her eyelashes. Her hand went to his chest piece, waiting there patiently.

 

“Captain Tucker, if I recall, you were called down to Kimball.” A familiar voice interrupted, Tucker heaved a dramatic sigh to look down at Agent Boner for Protocol, Agent Cockblock, Agent Washington.

 

Lelou rose an eyebrow, “Am I interrupting something?”

 

“No,” Tucker said at the same time Wash responded, “Yes.”

 

Wash crossed his arms, hardening his eyes. “Captain Lelou, I believe Captain Tucker is busy at the moment. Unprofessional relationships are, after all, not exactly permitted in the halls.” His voice was laced with venom, and Tucker watched as he stood perfectly still, feeling hurt.

 

“Same time tonight, baby?” He said, quietly. He watched Wash, though, searching for an expression--an indication of what was going on in that brain of his. The blonde’s tough facade crumbled, and he stared dejectedly elsewhere.

 

Lelou, and her thick accent, pulled him out of his trance. “Sounds good.” She winked and strolled around him, giving her hips a final shimmy before disappearing away.

 

“Tucker, I--”

 

Tucker gave him a reproachful look. “Wash, I’m actually busy. Needed in Kimball’s office. I don’t have time to talk to you in an unprofessional way.” He snapped. He felt bad, doing it, but Wash had been an outright prick. At least he was consistently that way in the past, and that this really should be no surprise to Tucker. Someone who’s been a victim of Wash’s never ending love for following rules.

 

He continued in his trek towards Kimball’s office, or at least the spare office her and Doyle took turns using when they’re monitoring the troops practice.

 

A few short hallways and thick white door later, Tucker arrived to his destination. For a moment, he considered knocking, but since Kimball was the one who called him down in the first place, perhaps he should just walk in? Before he could second guess himself, the door was swinging open, and Tucker was sheepishly walking in.

 

“Good morning, Captain,” she addressed.

 

He yawned, “Good morning, sir.”

 

“Tucker, I’m sure you’re aware of how busy we are.” She looked exhausted. “And you’ve made sure to miss a briefing or two.”

 

He winced apologetically. “Kimball, I—”

 

She leveled him with a silencing glare. “Not to mention your habit of getting together with a few of the Captain’s.” He frowned. “And, even more notable, apparently you’ve not spoken to Agent Washington in a couple of days. Since your last mission, if I recall.”

 

Well, she wasn’t wrong. He had been avoiding briefings, doing so because Wash was there. He had been sleeping around. And even more apparent to the troops was his overall avoidance of Wash. The person who Tucker had once spent so much time bantering with.

 

“Tucker, did you know that during your mission, Wash practically begged me to give him your whereabouts?” She continued, “he punched a wall when I said I didn’t have time to talk about it.”

 

“Okay?” Tucker played the fool, not wanting to act low he knew more than what she was telling him. His idea must have worked because Kimball sighed tiredly.

 

“Tucker, normally I stay out of my troops’ business. I don’t have time. But it’s starting to affect what’s going on in my army.” She ran a hand through her dark, curly mane, her eyes closed, blocking out the stress for just few moments. Tucker knew she was beautiful and strong, he’d known that for a while. But now when he looked at her, he viewed her as a friend and not some unknown lady to hit on.

 

Tucker nodded in agreeance, reminding himself of the talk Wash and him had, a rather normal one, when he questioned how to make the right decisions. How to be the closest thing to a freelancer available. “You’re right. It’s just—”

 

“Tucker, no excuses.” Frustration bubbled in his chest. These weren’t... excuses—except that they were.

 

“Okay. I’ll be more professional.” He said. “But, I’m not really going to be talking to him.” She sent him a wary look. “I’ll come to meetings, and prioritize better.”

 

“I guess that’s all I can ask for.”

 

Tucker grinned, “Damn right. You owe me, I’m thinking—”

 

“Tucker.” She bit out.

 

He winced, “Jeez, whoa, why is it I only end up with women who want to kill me?” His mind drifted to Tex, and then to Carolina, and then even Sister. “I’m out of here!”

 

She smiled fondly to herself, before it disappeared. “But Tucker,” she started, “I would... talk to Wash soon, okay?”

 

Tucker scowled. “God, everyone is so fucking weird about him.”

 

She blinked slowly. “You mean... Wash’s problems have been brought to your attention?”

 

“Uh, fuck yeah it has, that’s always everyone seems to be talking about! He’s so melodramatic.” Tucker complained.

 

“Something like that,” she responded cautiously. “Just... take care of your shit, Captain.” Her tone stayed light, but she meant her words. “Dismissed.”

 

Tucker hastily exited, after all, he had a date with destiny tonight. Captain Hottie with an accent wanted him in her room, wanted to train with him, wanted to ride his pugil stick--bow chicka bow wow. And there was just no way in hell Tucker was missing that. He would fix his attitude later, he’d been a do-it-later kind of man his whole life. Why break a streak?

 

All he had to do was get through the rest of his day without issue. But for some unknown reason, powers above _hated_ him. His original plan for the day was simple. Morning training, lunch, attend a shitty briefing (leave halfway through, bang someone in the bathroom), help train Palomo with newly acquired sniper rifle--he’d picked up a lot watching Church fuck up. And Tex showed him a few things too.

 

Alas, Felix was still fucking his life up, even from afar. Apparently on a stealth mission, one that was supposed to be an easy ride for some of the newer recruits, Felix patiently waited for them to arrive and attempted to bomb the cache when a large amount of people were in it. Luckily, the bastard wasn’t so patient, and messed up, pulling his trickery too soon. But it was the intention and the near success that bothered the Chorus soldiers most.

 

A few recruits didn’t make it back.

 

Tucker knew a handful by name, some of which had been trained by Wash--and dammit, he can’t imagine what Wash was thinking right now. Because Tucker had originally been assigned to the mission. That could’ve been Tucker who’d been blown to smithereens. He knew just how well Wash responded to that.

 

He had to skip lunch to arrive in the war room. Or, as most called it, Doyle and Kimball’s war grounds. Despite how far they’d come, they were both _terrible_ to one another. Tucker had been with people he hated before too, had been forced into spaces with people who tried to kill him, people who he couldn’t trust--and yet Tucker was alive and functioning. He knew he often got lectures to grow up, but at least Tucker had the decency to get over his own personal inflections.

 

“Fucking Felix, that stupid fuck.” Was the first thing Tucker heard when he walked into the shared space. A few of the Blood Gulch crew were gathered around a tablet, for once seeming productive. He saw Wash doing the same, but on his own tablet, a few feet away from their friends.

 

“Ah, Tucker, perhaps you should see this.” Wash beckoned him over, and Tucker thought long and hard--bow chicka bow wow--about Kimball telling him to be fair, to get over his issues. He glanced over to her, where she was scolding Doyle and hitting him with a stack of papers. So no, Kimball didn’t have room to talk. He could be petty for a bit longer.

 

“I’m good, I’ll watch it with them.” He gestured to Simmons, who anxiously tapped his foot, a worried look in his human eye.

 

Wash’s face fell. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to--”

 

“Quiet for a sec, I can’t hear the video,” Tucker cut him off, but he wasn’t really listening to the footage anyway.

 

He focused on it, trying to ignore that his heart felt bad for these kids who were trying to gather up as much stuff as they could because _damn_ supplies are always running low. These people who are barely sixteen fighting to survive, living their lives this way. Tucker hated that he would stay on this planet, but he knew what he was doing was the right thing.

 

The video cut to black after a nasty explosion, the glitching frame of ‘Helmet Malfunction’ and then, suddenly, nothing. “They’re just kids. Man, I have a kid,” Tucker muttered.

 

Donut sighed, “I wish I could’ve been there to slip on in and check it out.” Tucker nudged him softly in understanding.

 

“I should have been there.” Tucker said, fear washing over him. “That was _my_ original mission, but that new Lieutenant wanted to take it--I shouldn’t have cleared her.” He ran a hand through his dreads, letting out a frustrated noise. “Why do I fucking suck at making decisions?”

 

Wash stared at him. “You weren’t there? You had a mission today?”

 

Tucker shrugged. “Uh, yeah? And now I’m feeling pretty fucking guilty, Wash. Now’s not the time to lecture me for skipping out on work.” He wrapped his arms around himself. “I’m such a fucking idiot!” He slammed his hand down on the table, trying to fight back angry tears.

 

“You didn’t tell me you had a mission,” Wash whispered hoarsely. “That could have been you, you could’ve been killed--”

 

Tucker snapped his head up, “instead, it’s a fucking kid or two. I should’ve gone.” While Wash looked like he was trying to swallow that pill, Tucker slammed his head on the table, collapsing in a chair. “I don’t have to tell you when I go on missions.”

 

“Tucker, you and I’ve gone over this--”

 

“I don’t owe you shit, Agent Washington.” He said coldly, and Wash tried to contain his hurt and surprise.

 

“Ahem.” Both of them whipped around to see Kimball, staring. “Wash, perhaps it’s best if you retire for the day. You’ve been awake an awful lot, and you’re not necessary for the debriefing.”

 

Wash, just like his usual self, gawked in shock. “But--I’m fine, Kimball, I’m sorry for being unprofessional, we can just begin the meeting--”

 

“Agent Washington. Please, retire,” Doyle intoned, eyeing him with uncertainty.

 

“Yes sir,” He conceded, he sent Tucker a pleading look, but Tucker didn’t do a thing. He turned on his heel and marched out of the room, turning to the left out the door--not the way to his usual quarters. Where on earth was the lunatic going now?

 

Doyle coughed. “I believe we had matters to discuss.” The short man narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Tucker, trailing off to Wash’s exit point, and then back to Tucker again.

 

 _Great,_ Tucker thought, _another person who wants to know what the fuck Agent Bitchington’s problem is with me._ With a resigned sigh, he knew Doyle would be speaking to him privately at some point. He settled in a chair, and began strategizing how to work around this incident.

 

*

 

The meeting took what felt like hours. Well, that’s because it did take hours. He finally retired to his room, almost forgetting about his meeting with Lelou. At least he had a stress relief. He already began to strip his armor as he grew closer and closer to his room.

  
Donut walked him there, saying that he wasn’t too tired yet, and he needed a fun way to blow off steam. The perky blonde winked, but laughed at Tucker’s expression. “I needed to ask you, Tucker,” he started, as they neared Tucker’s room, “what was that? With Wash?”

 

Tucker inhaled sharply, trying to keep himself from being pissed off. “I don’t know, Donut.” He was getting impatient. Hot Captain in his room, he needed to be there, stat. “Can I leave?”

 

“Well, yes, but, don’t you go yet Tucker, one minute!” He huffed dramatically--he must be spending too much time around Wash as well--and crossed his arms. “Wash seems a little unstable when you pull shit like that so. If you can avoid it...”

 

“Avoid it. Read you loud and clear.” Tucker said, looking anywhere but at Donut. “Now? Can I please leave? You’re really not the person I want to bang.”

 

Donut rolled his eyes. “I’m a Christmas Miracle, Tucker. But, your loss! More after sex wine for me.” And with that, he strolled off. Leaving Tucker with more questions than answers about Donut.

 

He gripped the handle of the door firmly, pushing it open, dropping most of the armor he’d been shedding on the way back. “I’m finally back, Lelou.”

  
He practically skipped to his bed, about to pull the covers up to reveal the busty brunette, but was instead greeted with another sight altogether. Wash. In his bed. Again. Wearing fatigues that looked oddly familiar, arms covered in bruises from training earlier--he must have gone when dismissed--which meant one thing: Wash was also completely shirtless.

 

The blonde slept peacefully in Tucker’s blankets, eyes shut gently. Honestly, if Tucker wasn’t so freaked out and mad at the guy, he probably would’ve let him keep sleeping. Wash deserved to rest at some point.

 

“Wash, what the fuck?”

 

Wash rolled over, sleepy eyes blinking out grogginess. “Oh, hey there, Captain Tucker.”

 

“Yeah, hey yourself,” he said conversationally, before getting down to business, “What the fuck is going on? I know my room has great interior decorating--” there wasn’t a single thing in his room, not to make it any different than anyone else’s-- “and my bed is very comfortable, but you shouldn’t be in it?”

 

Wash had the decency to look embarrassed, but to spare his own dignity he responded, just as quickly. “Well, you weren’t using it.”

 

“That’s not--” He stopped. “Hey, where the fuck is Lelou?”

 

Wash cocked his head to the side. “Who?”

 

“The girl from this morning? Ringing any bells?”

 

Wash clicked his tongue. “You’re referring to woman you were lusting after in the hallway. Do you always think with your penis exclusively?” he asked, but with little to no actual malice.

 

Tucker was offended anyway. “Lusting after would imply I haven’t already boned her.” He laughed, albeit a bit cruelly, when Wash cast his eyes downward, hurt. But, Wash hadn’t exactly been so accommodating to his feelings lately, so he continued without stop. “She’s supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be pressing her into the mattress you’re occupying. Making her grab the sheets.”

 

“I get the picture,” Wash hissed, setting his glare on the door. “Well she showed up, but I told her you were still at the meeting.”

 

“Ah, I guess we’ll have to postpone.” Tucker said.

 

A low sound came from Wash, “no, actually. She said she wasn’t particularly interested in going for it anymore if you’re going to skip out. I wouldn’t bother.”

 

Tucker furrowed his brow. That was odd, since she had said the other day she completely understood that things came up. They were both captain’s with lives outside of sex, obviously. That’s why they weren’t dating or anything, just using the good old blowing off steam trick... by blowing...

 

He was getting sidetracked. “That doesn’t sound right.”

 

Wash’s eyes flashed for a moment. “Well, it is. I know rejection is a difficult topic to the Great Tucker.” His normal bantering tone made Tucker grin.

 

Tucker jumped onto the bed next to him, stripping his own shirt. If his friend was, he might as well. Besides, his AC unit had broken rather recently. Wash shivered, and Tucker gawked. “Dude, are you cold?”

 

Wash’s freckled, pale body, lit up like a christmas tree. “I get cold easily.” He scratched the back of his neck. “The temperature regulator in my room is too cold. And if I’m out armor, I don’t have the standard temp control feature.” He shrugged, “I’m just not used to it.”

 

Tucker threw his unused shirt at Wash. “Are you kidding? I’m fucking dying. It’s like Blood Gulch here.”

 

Wash chuckled, “I wouldn’t go as far as to say that.”

 

Tucker missed the witty comments the two had. If he was being honest, he missed Wash when they were fighting. But Wash was being way too protective, way too... obsessive, and Tucker didn’t know any other way to express that that wasn’t okay.

 

They fell into a comfortable silence. The two scrolling through datapads to keep themselves busy, Wash comfortably snug in Tucker’s clothing and blankets. While Tucker sweat like a dog beside him. Wash leaned on his shoulder, tapping on his datapad periodically to indicate he was in fact still awake and reading the latest report Simmons concluded. Tucker ran a hand through Wash’s soft hair, and Wash nuzzled into it affectionately.

 

“I wish I would’ve been there. At the meeting.” Tucker glanced at Wash speaking out of the corner of his eye. “I’m proud of you for realizing that what happened was a position you could have been in,” Wash murmured, continuing.

 

Wash looked up at him, eyes wide and expectant. Their faces were inches apart. Tucker could feel Wash’s warm breath on his face. He smelt of mouthwash--and Tucker realized that he must not have eaten anything since then.

 

“I’m more happy, though, that you’re here, and you’re alive with me.” He shifted, their knees touched, and he toyed with his lip in his mouth. “That makes me selfish.”

  
“Well, objectively...” Tucker tried to joke.

 

Wash ignored him. “You need to tell me about missions you’re going on. Hell, I’m going to request to go on them.”

 

Tucker barked out a laugh. “That’s fucking insane, Wash. I’m not a two-year-old. I can _and_ will be going on my own missions.”

 

Wash’s breath seemed caught in his throat. “But you don’t need to. I’m here.”

 

Tucker stared at him, completely baffled by Wash’s train of thought. “That’s the same thing as me saying I’m going on a date, and you saying you would come. My moment in the limelight, my moment to myself, my moment to succeed!”

 

“Of course I’d come with. You’re a moron, I can’t expect you to go on a date alone.” Tucker lifted an eyebrow, conveying how pissed he was becoming. “I didn’t mean it like that--I was just thinking that--”

 

“Wash, the problem is that you’re not thinking. About everything. The only thing you’ve been thinking about is--”

  
“You.” Wash interrupted. “You, and Caboose, and sometimes the Reds, and obviously Carolina.”

 

Tucker threw his hands in the air, pulling away from the heat that radiated from Wash’s covers. The blonde nearly tipped over, whimpering at the sudden change in atmosphere.

 

“Tucker, I--”

 

“Whatever, Wash. I’m gonna go blow off some steam.” He ripped a shirt out of his drawer, sparing a look at Wash, whose eyes were hazy and confused, a sluggish tone to his movement of a hand absently reaching after. “Just keep the clothes,” he added as an afterthought, and ignored the moony smile that crept on Wash’s lips.

 

He just needed out of there. He knew Wash was trying to show he cared, but it was _suffocating_. It wasn’t normal, and it definitely wasn’t okay.

 

He needed to pick up more missions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Beta, PeculiarProjects read this one over a couple weeks ago, so bless her heart. You should read her stuff!  
> Cheers! xx


	5. 5.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot can go wrong in a day. Tucker had known this for a while. He just wished his nights would be a resting point for him. Too bad they're not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well gosh, i don't even remember writing this chapter. i'm worried about how the pacing will come across in this book, since, this wasn't meant to be as long as it became... whoopsie daisy!   
> hope y'all like it!  
> again, thanks to my beta, PeculiarProjects big shoutout to that lovely gal. <3

The fifth time it happened, Tucker was growing increasingly tired. Every time their army made a step in the right direction, Felix, the prick, seemed to know exactly when to strike. If Tucker didn’t know better, he would say that he was planning to. 

But Tucker did know better. He knew that Epsilon was running daily scans of their equipment, and camera footage. Watching for any leaks, tracing every signal. He knew that Felix, the lucky bastard had no idea just how lucky he was getting. 

An early morning in the training room with Carolina, Tucker found himself on the ground on and over again,  the powerful redhead never giving him much leeway. He knocked her down  _ once  _ and she proceeded to beat him down without mercy. If he was being honest, he found he expected it. 

 

“Carolina, you’ve proven your point,” Wash stated, charging their way. “Didn’t Freelancer teach you that? This isn’t a competition, take it easy.” He was obviously addressing her, but he watched Tucker intensely. 

 

“But I—you’re right. I’m sorry, Tucker, I know I get carried away,” she apologized, playing with her ponytail nervously. It was so strange to see this side of her, since she never bothered before the Director. 

 

“Hey, it’s cool. Next time you pin me we can have  _ way  _ more fun,” he jested, winking. 

 

She quirked an eyebrow. “Okay, I’m definitely not sorry now.” They both laughed companionably. 

 

Wash looked on, completely unreadable. Church projected on Carolina’s shoulder, saying: “Gross, she’s like my sister.” 

 

The ping of a datapad caught their attention, pulling them from their current banter. The sound of it resonated in the newfound silence of the room. It was common knowledge why a datapad making a noise would occur despite being put on silent. Something dire had happened to their men. 

 

Tucker felt a rush of dread flood his system. “Church,” Carolina said quietly, “what does it say?” 

 

If you asked Tucker if it was possible for an Artificial Intelligence fragment to emotionally breakdown, Tucker would tell you it most certainly wasn’t—certainly not for someone as cold as Church. “Complete mission failure.” He momentarily glitched, his holographic sprite flickering briefly before powering off entirely.

 

The two freelancers and Tucker took off towards their pile of stuff, all of which leaned on the bench near the locker room. The stench of both body odor and overwhelming amounts of body spray mixed together unpleasantly, leaving a pungent and repulsive smell. 

 

All three seemed to recognize this, quickly picking up their datapads and booking it to the exit immediately.

 

Multiple casualties. Many either dead or injured. Locus had armed his place to its teeth, with new types of technology and advanced pieces of weaponry. Unlike the which anyone had seen before—obviously provided by whoever pulled the strings to their puppeteered dance. Tucker’s heart ached for the many lost, but it wasn’t until Wash spoke coldly that Tucker understood what was so terrible about the mission. “Caboose was leading a squad.” 

 

The three broke into a quicker run, all with the same destination in their minds: the infirmary. If Caboose was one of the few who made it out by the skin of his teeth, he’d be in there. 

  
It was obvious Wash was tearing himself apart from the inside, and perhaps even from the out. Blood trickled down his palms as he dug his fingernails into his skin. They came to a halt outside the door. 

 

Tucker pushed Wash lightly, keeping him grounded against the wall. Making sure something was holding him in reality. “Wash. We both have to keep it together.” But Tucker was shaking himself. 

 

Innocent Caboose, the mussy dark-haired idiot, was quite possibly dead. Or worse, as Wash had always said so dramatically—and for once, Tucker could imagine it. Instead of being gone, and finally at peace, he could be hooked up on life support, hanging onto a thread of life. Suffering until he wasn’t alive to suffer anymore. 

 

Carolina somberly knocked on the door, keeping herself composed much better than Wash and himself. Waiting for what was coming, all of them huddled close, warmth seeping from person to person. The air was tight with the collected anxiety, an Tucker’s lungs struggled to keep his breath steady. 

 

Dr. Grey opened the door, clad in scrubs, and covered in blood she hardly seemed to notice. “Good afternoon!” she chirped, ever excitable, “what brings you guys here?” 

 

“Dr. Grey,” Carolina greeted tersely, “We heard the news about what happened—” 

 

“And you shouldn’t be  _ here _ ,” Dr. Grey hummed, interrupting her carelessly. “As protocol dictates—” 

 

Wash sighed, obviously knowing  _ exactly  _ what the protocol was. Tucker knew the man practically memorized every rule. “But Dr. Grey, we don’t have time, Caboose could be dead—” 

 

“Then you should hurry up and get together with Doyle, now, shouldn’t you? I have a lot of patients. If anyone doesn’t have time, it’s me!” she sang, “but it sure will be exciting. Now, out out, leave me and my profession be please.” 

 

Wash growled and grabbed Tucker’s wrist. His grip crushing, and his posture frustrated. Wash’s silence simmered, and Tucker could practically hear the boiling rage. Tucker tried to break the tight grip, pulling on his arm. 

 

“Do not try and pull away from me,” Wash hissed. He leveled his tone into something a bit less malicious, but the underlying meaning was still there. “Now that Caboose is hurt, it’s even more likely you’ll get hurt.” Tucker stared at him, shocked for a long moment. This wasn’t Wash—not the one they knew after Sidewinder. This was the person who’d shot Donut, the one who would do anything to stay alive. But now that desire seemed to spread to everyone he deemed fit. 

 

Tucker, ever the one to accidentally antagonize, continued in trying to free his wrist. “That’s bullshit, let go of me.” 

 

Wash glared. “That’s enough, Captain Tucker. Stand down.” 

 

Tucker’s eyes held the strong gaze, looking frustrated as ever. “Fuck you, Wash.” 

 

“I need you,” Wash said, quietly. “I need you to just stay. Please, Tucker.” Pleading eyes met Tucker’s, and he sighed dramatically. Wash was obviously not okay, and it baffled Tucker. Caboose was the team idiot, no matter what, Tucker would have faith that said moron would be okay. He  _ always  _ was, it was just nature’s law. 

 

Tucker slackened his arm, looking at a concerned Carolina. “We need to go to the war room,” she intoned, as if she were trying to contain all of the inner fear she had. “The sooner we get there, the sooner we may be granted access to Caboose.”

“Where’s Church?” Tucker asked, concerned about the way his holographic form flickered in and out of view, before disappearing altogether. It wasn’t uncommon for computer programs to glitch, but Tucker had watched him shut down altogether. 

 

Carolina nodded her head back, referring to her ports. Church must be recovering. That didn’t do anything to soothe the nerves in Tucker’s chest, but at this rate, nothing really seemed to. Certainly not Wash’s tight grip, or the fact that Caboose was severely wounded. 

 

“Wash, would it kill you to loosen your grip?” he grumbled, irritated. Wash seemed hesitant to do it, but reluctantly let go of his wrist altogether. Instead securing Tucker’s hand in his own. “Great,” Tucker muttered, “no wonder my sex life has gone to shit, everyone thinks we’re together.”

 

“Wow, way to make a man feel special,” Wash snapped, frowning, “glad to know the thought is so appealing.” 

 

Tucker rolled his eyes. “Wash, I don’t get you man.” Wash just held his hand a little tighter. “It sounds like you want me to want you.” Tucker winked, and Wash blushed, opting to say nothing. Tucker just chuckled, losing himself in how well Wash fit next to him. They were friends, after all. He found he kept missing his friend when they fought. 

 

They all trekked towards the war room, silent in their actions. Tucker knew the freelancers were silent normally, but he couldn’t even hear them breathe. He was thankful none of them were wearing armor, it felt almost normal to all be without it. He tried to picture a nicer scene, with three of them walking along. Perhaps Caboose would be ahead of them, chasing after a butterfly or something equally as cliche and stupid. 

 

He thought about Church, how the computer program could change out of armor too. How he enjoyed doing all the things he used to, and how maybe he wasn’t Alpha, wasn’t the person Tucker had known for so many years, but he was still Church. He thought about how Church was his best friend, and he would never trade that. Even if the blue AI was a massive pain in the ass.

 

They all steadied themselves outside of the war room. Tucker glanced down at his hand that was interlocked with Wash’s, then glanced up at Wash himself. Hoping the blonde would get the hint. He didn’t seem to, instead, he confidently led Tucker into the room by his hand. The two of them sitting in chairs that were a bit too close if Tucker was being honest. 

 

What the  _ fuck  _ was up with Wash? Wash didn’t do any affection, right? He reminded himself to talk to Carolina about it. Maybe this was something Wash did in Freelancer. Perhaps Wash would engage in physical contact to deal with all of that loss. Tucker knew he did. 

 

“Today’s mission was a complete and utter loss,” Kimball stated, her opening line gaining more than a few a guilty and sad looks. “We lost a lot of young people, and those who are alive are mostly in critical condition.”

 

“Like Caboose,” Wash supplied, bitterly, before hastily adding, “sir.”

 

“Yes, just like Caboose. And all of the other  _ children  _ who shouldn’t need to be fighting this war.” She ran a hand through her hair, trying to keep the exhaustion off of her face. But at this point in the game, it was practically ingrained in her features. She was too young to have this many wrinkles, Tucker thought sadly. 

 

Tucker nodded, “We need to do something different, the mercs have efficient strategies and we don’t have the means to stop them. We can’t keep running missions on the defensive like that. Everytime we think we have enough intel, we don’t.”

 

Kimball sighed. “That’s true, but we don’t have the means to go on the offensive just yet.” She clicked on her datapad, projecting something onto the screen. “This is a list of supplies we require. The nearest military base, one the mercs  _ don’t  _ know about, is  _ this  _ far away.” She gestured to a point on the map, rather far away from where they were. “We don’t have the resources yet.”

 

“Why aren’t we getting them? I’d be happy to.” Carolina was intent on expressing just how willing she was to go, by standing up. “All of us are, right?” 

 

“Ah, yes, but obviously we need a freelancer to stay back here. In, well, Armonia. So even if you did go, it could only be one of you.” Doyle added, flinching when Carolina turned to stare at him. 

 

With a clipped tone, Carolina reiterated, “that’s fine. Wash will stay, continue to train the troops. I have Epsilon, so I’m best suit for the field.” Wash seemed like he wanted to object to that statement, but stayed quiet, opting to hold onto Tucker silently. 

 

“Carolina, are you comfortable taking lead of this mission? I’m needed to take care of all of those lost. Are you planning on running a recon first?” Kimball’s voice softened, as she approached Carolina. 

 

“That sounds, risky, but if you’re sure...” Wash trailed off. “You’re sure the mercs don’t know about it?” At the agreeance of both Kimball and Doyle, Wash felt a bit more confident. “Well alright, who’d you plan to bring, ‘Lina?” 

 

“Well, Sarge and Donut, from Red. Since, I’m a red now?” She paused inquisitively. Tucker remembered when she had been chosen as a red. 

 

It had been Sarge to stir up the drama—no surprise there—he stood in the hallway, right in front of Tucker’s door, arms crossed grumpily.  _ “You Blues have two Freelancers!”  _ he had exclaimed, hands thrown in the air. “ _ That gives you tactical advantage!”  _

 

_ “Sarge, I’m pretty sure we’ve never had less of a reason to worry about that,”  _ Tucker responded, looking as exhausted as he always did when approached by Sarge. Oh god, was Wash rubbing off on him? 

 

_ “You couldn’t be more wrong! We’re meeting in the lobby in twenty minutes, I’d get’cher thinkin’ cap on if I were you...”  _ Sarge had said, ominously, before disappearing around the corner to presumably do something Tucker would consider stupid. But, with the Reds, that was everything. 

 

Tucker muttered a soft,  _ goddammit _ , before rounding up the Blues. He knew Blue team had there so called ‘Blue Team Problems,’ but that could never light a candle to the frequency of ‘Red Team Drama.’ Sarge had been stirring that pot since Blood Gulch. 

 

So when the Reds and Blues assembled downstairs, all sitting on seperate sides, Sarge began to speak.  _ “It’s been a long time since us Reds have been so terribly at risk. I won’t stand for it! You guys have two Freelancers! You only need one!” _

 

_ “Yeah, uh, I don’t know, two minus one is pretty hard—” _

 

_ “Oh my god, shut  _ up  _ Caboose,  _ please _. You’re right sir, we should get to have one of the Freelancers. But with your tactical brilliance, it’s hardly like we need one.”  _

 

_ “Kissass.”  _

 

_ “Thank you, Simmons!”  _ Sarge said loudly, his boisterous voice making Wash wince beside him. “ _ Now, Blues, pick who you think we get to have. We’re being awfully generous letting you have pick of the draft!”  _

 

_ “Well, it’s kind of obvious who they’d pick...”  _ Wash trailed off, looking at Tucker expectantly.  _ “Right, Tucker?”  _

 

_ “I’m thinking,”  _ Tucker answered, glancing back and forth between Wash and Carolina. Then, to Red team, then to Caboose. He watched Wash sputter in embarrassment, saying something that Tucker wasn’t really listening to. 

 

Caboose shrugged, putting a hand on Wash.  _ “Yes, um, Washington, it’s just that, Carolina has Church. And Tucker thinks she’s very pretty, so it’s actually—” _

 

_ “It’s a toss up!”  _ Donut said with a wink. 

 

_ “I don’t know what a toss up is, it sounds very nice, thank you.”  _ Caboose smiled at Donut, and Donut patted him on the head. Of course, this meant Caboose had completely lost his train of thought. What a complete shock. 

 

Wash nudged him.  _ “Tucker, if you don’t pick me, training is going to suck.”  _ The blonde had grinned mischievously, and Tucker groaned. 

 

_ “Ugh, fine! We pick Wash!”  _ Caboose had cheered and Epsilon groaned in complaint. Carolina didn’t seem all that bothered, and Wash was beaming sunnily. If Tucker was being honest, it had actually been a lot of fun. Since, immediately after, they held a roaring welcome Carolina to Red Team. Which means as soon as the Freelancers left, Tucker and Grif brought out the alcohol they found during supply runs. 

 

Despite the good times, he figured he should tune back in. When he did he heard, “And, probably Tucker—”

 

Wash, of course, interjected immediately, “And Tucker? Why do you need Tucker? Tucker doesn’t need to go. He needs to be here to wait with me for Caboose.” Tucker winced when Wash’s grip became a vice. 

 

“Wash, let go,” Tucker hissed, for what felt like the millionth time. 

 

Doyle rose a hand to speak in his own war room. If that didn’t sum the man up, Tucker wasn’t entirely sure what did. “What about a compromise, Wash? Surely you’ll let Tucker go, if you can help in some way.” 

  
Carolina frowned. “Wash, you’ll be helping from  _ here _ . That’s what the people need.” She stressed this to him, and Tucker felt Wash tense up. Wash and Carolina’s relationship had been repairing slowly but surely since Carolina and Epsilon had rescued them, and Tucker would hate to see it all go to waste. After all, if anyone understood the horrors Washington went through, it would be her. 

 

“No, Carolina,” Tucker answered. “This is just a compromise. Caboose was recently hurt, and I’m assuming we’re going to want to bring him on this mission. We’ll need to wait for him to recover. No one can carry as much as he can. It’s less people, more stuff, less risk.” 

 

Wash bristled. “That’s not a less risk to my team, Tucker. That puts you  _ and  _ Caboose in danger.” 

 

Tucker sighed, “If you would ever let me finish,” he snapped, with a pointed stare, “I was going to say, you would be on call for the mission. Giving information, and being immediate backup.” 

 

Wash shook his head. “That’s not a compromise to me, I was going to do that anyway.” 

 

Kimball shot him a glare. “No, you wouldn’t, because you have responsibilities to the troops.” The way she said it was practically a dare for Wash to argue. And, because Wash was stubborn and prideful, he nearly did. 

 

“Funnily enough—”

 

Wash went to begin on his rant, but Tucker grabbed his other hand, “Wash, if you shut up right now, you and I can talk about this later,” he whispered, and Wash looked torn. Between what, exactly, Tucker would never know. But lately all the hints his friends were giving, he was getting an idea. 

 

“Later? After this?” Wash responded, not nearly as quiet. 

 

Doyle coughed. “Well, uh, not right after. I need to talk to Tucker, alone.” His mustache twitched, and he shrunk under Wash’s intense look. Tucker had been the recipient of that look one too many times, and it barely phased him anymore. “Unless, you really need him?” Doyle squeaked out, much to Wash’s satisfaction. 

 

“No.” Tucker cut in. “Wash, just, meet me in my room. Now, Carolina, let’s just continue planning this.” 

 

Wash squeezed his hand. “Yes, let’s.” 

 

Wash seemed in a much better mood for the rest of the meeting. Although, every time someone mentioned who was going on the mission, Wash seemed hesitant to reply. Hovering over everything written, because inevitably, like it or not, Tucker was going. Wash took on his usual authoritative tone, giving out directives to the other people in attendance to the meeting. 

 

The two of them stopped just outside of the war room, where people filed out quickly. It had gone late into the evening, and everyone was starved. “Tucker, you’ll be there soon.” His tone didn’t leave any room for argument, but that had never stopped Tucker before. 

 

“Wash, I’ll get there when I get there. You should probably go to your room and change.” Tucker waved him off. 

  
Wash stood, unmoved. “You said to meet you in your room, why would I go somewhere else? Unless, you don’t want me to meet you there?” Two different messages at once, ever a man of contradictions. His words said lenience but his eyes said ‘if you go back on what you said, you and everyone in this army will regret it’. 

 

Tucker rolled his eyes. “Honestly, I don’t really want to.” At Wash’s insistent, confused and hurt look, Tucker heaved a dramatic sigh. “Well, look dude, you’re not giving me much of a choice. At least check in with Grey, let’s find out when Caboose is getting out of there.” 

 

Wash stepped closer to Tucker. “Kimball is nothing like I’d expected. I keep forgetting how steadfast she is on this whole thing,” Wash muttered. “It’s... admirable.” Wash was hesitant to admit it, but the compliment was genuine. If Tucker was being honest, he expected a but. “But,” there it was, “she’s not understanding just how little I give a shit about her stupid war.” 

 

Tucker put his hand on Wash’s neck, gently brushing his fingers by the neural implants. Wash didn’t let anyone else, from any team, touch him there. Wash looked like he was ready to melt, leaning into the affectionate and knowing touch. “I get that, Wash.” 

 

“No, you don’t.” Wash ran a hand through his hair, moving closer to Tucker. “You don’t, you want to stay here. And I respect that, but you could die, Tucker.” 

 

The dark-haired man was getting sick of this. And he’d just invited it back to his room. Great, what a great plan, Tucker. But if he was being honest, it was better than hearing Wash and Kimball fight. And  _ much  _ better than watching Carolina and Wash turn on each other again. Tucker had been the reason for that enough. 

 

Carolina had told Tucker very little about Wash’s past. Not that she should, after all, what’s Wash’s business is his. And if Tucker learned anything from being friends with Alpha, it’s that sometimes it’s best to stay in your own business and wait for someone else to talk to you. 

 

However, Carolina had told him that Wash and the Director had little in common. Carolina’s  _ father _ , he believed that adaptability and intuition was rewarded. And while Wash understood the sentiment, he always said that it was easier to implant rules and stick to them. Wash always had troubles with authority figures. Wash had even mentioned his time before Freelancer to Tucker, and that just solidified what Tucker already knew.

 

“I need to go, Wash. I’ll see you shortly.” Like his hand was tape, he ripped it off of Wash’s skin all at once. The blonde stared after him, a dazed and confused look held in his eyes. Wash brought his own fingers to ghost over where Tucker’s were, and Tucker turned his back. As always terrible with confrontation. 

 

Sweeping back into the war room, where only Kimball and Doyle were left, he chose to listen to them, carefully, as they talked back and forth. “Doyle, you know how much I despise you, but even you have to agree that he’s getting a bit... out of sorts.” 

 

“Well, obviously Vanessa! Do you think I invited Tucker for tea to make Wash  _ wait _ ? Wash is scary! I do  _ not  _ want to anger him.” Tucker knew it. Of course they were talking about how Wash acted today. 

 

“I understand that, Donald. I tried addressing it, but it’s not easy. Only Tucker can really do something.” They both sighed in unison. “That’s a lot of faith in him.” 

 

Tucker bit his tongue, about to lash out and defend himself. Yeah, that was a lot of faith in him. Thanks for the confidence boost, Kimball. Nothing makes someone feel greater than that. He almost  _ didn’t  _ want to talk to Doyle. Let Wash at the both of them.

 

“But, I must confess, it’s something Tucker can handle. He seems to have a grip on it,” Kimball amended. 

 

_ Oh,  _ Tucker thought. A hand rushing to his chest, rather moved. He thought of how he reacted like every movie cliche. Listened into a conversation that wasn’t his, got upset over something he wasn’t supposed to hear, and could have potentially not heard the following line. He  _ hated  _ that shit in movies, it always had him so mad. 

 

“What can I handle? And what do I have a grip on? Ask Grif—bow chicka bow wow,” Tucker said without thinking, making his presence known in the doorway. “Wait, that came out wrong. I was referencing his sister.” 

 

He wondered what Kaikaina was up to these days. Last he’d seen her, she’d given him a blow job and he had eaten her out. Ah, memories. Despite those type of interactions, they had normal ones too. They talked about their futures; Tucker knew she had huge dreams and he honestly wanted to see her pursue them. She planned to be a star in more than one industry—Lord knows he’d watch it all. As both a friend, and ex lover. 

 

“Uh, Captain Tucker, did you hear anything we said?” Doyle inquired. 

 

Kimball smirked, (she was becoming more and more like Carolina, he was sure of it) words falling off of her lips too easily, “Or were you too busy thinking about Grif?” 

 

“Ew, ew, I’m not banging Grif,” he groaned, “or anyone, at the moment. Wanna volunteer?” He winked at her. 

 

Kimball began her exit of the room. “I’m too busy for you. Doyle, if you will.” 

“No, I don’t want Doyle though!” Tucker called after her. “No offense, not my type.” Tucker told the meek blonde with a sheepish grin. 

 

Doyle chuckled, “No, that’s quite alright. But you’re going to need to pick up a type fast.”

 

Tucker shook his head. “Uh, what?”

“Well I hope you have a thing for hero, martyr, awkward, obsessive, knife wielding, freelancers. Er, that is, Wash,” Doyle said, looking just as uncomfortable as Tucker felt. 

 

Tucker blinked slowly. “Feelings. For Wash? Um, what? What the fuck?”

 

“The ideal man bears the accidents of life with dignity and grace, making the best of circumstances. I believe Aristotle said that.” Tucker looked at him to elaborate, he didn’t have time for Doyle’s flowery bullshit. “It’s obvious that Wash... needs you, desperately.” 

 

“Yeah, but it’s not like that!” Tucker argued, feverently. “And even if it was, that’s not my problem.”

 

Doyle cringed, “Well, I know. Kimball and I have agreed on that, but alas I digress. Please, Tucker, we need you to at least, keep doing what you did today. Make him agreeable. Keep him with you. I know it’s not desirable, but it’s for the best.” 

 

“Dude, look, I love Wash, but I don’t know if I  _ love  _ Wash.” Tucker answered, thinking about it deeply for a moment. 

 

It’s not that Tucker had anything wrong with gays. He most certainly didn’t, hell, he was bisexual himself. How could he not be, given how often he thought about sex with anyone? But he hadn’t run into any men recently who struck his eye like that. Although, Wash was strikingly handsome. He had a broken heart, and torn mind, but he was still awkward and entertaining. 

 

And really, how could he hate gays? What with Donut, and the way Grif and Simmons looked at each other, he wouldn’t have a goddamn group of friends if he was homophobic. Besides, he was technically a minority himself. But having feelings for Wash? Well, that’s another story. Right?

 

“I don’t think I do,” Tucker said, anyway. 

 

Loving Wash, loving Wash, loving Wash. He knew realistically Wash had been acting weird. But, he was acting that way about Caboose, too. 

 

“Besides, that would imply Caboose has to get with Wash, and that’s just... not a thing, dude. Ever.” He shuddered at the thought. Caboose being in bed with someone? Ew, gross. Wash on the other hand. He remembered how Wash had looked, last time Tucker came around. 

 

Wearing Tucker’s clothing, tangled in the sheets. Combine that with what he knew of the man when he worked out—sweat sheening on his pale skin, freckles disappearing beneath cloth, soft grunts, completely flushed. And add that together with the soft whimpers he made and the way he would nuzzle into Tucker’s hand when he pulled softly on his hair. 

 

Tucker coughed. “Just because he’s attractive—and thank you for putting that image in my brain—doesn’t mean I  _ have  _ to fuck him!” His voice rose steadily through the entire sentence. 

 

“Well, the point was for you to have that image in your brain—”

 

“Gross—”

 

“And you don’t have to, as you so grotesquely put, fuck him. You just... have to persuade him. Continuously. With your... affection.” Doyle said, awkwardly. 

 

Tucker stared blankly. “And this is your plan? To solving Wash’s raging insanity? Did you guys not notice it before? I don’t understand it myself, but he’s got this issue where something... sets him off. And lately it’s been off  _ all the time. _ ” 

 

Doyle frowned. “A trigger? Tucker, I was an English major and I know that.” Tucker was hardly surprised at that piece of information. An English major—well, it’s not like Tucker could do better. “Wash has a particular trigger.” 

 

“Wow, so smart.” Tucker responded. 

 

“It’s the only option!” 

 

Tucker groaned. “Jesus fucking Christ if I hear this one more time, I’m going to end it all!” He turned around, ready to leave, “I’m going to Wash.” 

 

“That’s the spirit.” Doyle said encouragingly. 

 

Tucker flipped him the bird as he walked away. With Red Team drama, Blue Team problems, and now Chorusan bullshit, he wasn’t sure he could keep up. But he  _ was  _ going back to his room. Back to where Wash would inevitably be. Because Wash loved to breathe in Tucker’s scent when Tucker was away too long. And Wash would hold him just a little too long when Tucker returned from missions. The ones Wash knew about—if Wash didn’t know about them, there was hell to pay. 

 

He figured leaving Wash in the dark, as always, was a bad thing. So he would head for his room immediately. Not because he missed Wash. Not because he found his company enjoyable and longed for the companionship the two seemed to create when they were in silence. 

 

Navigating his way back proved difficult: he was far too tired for this. Maybe he could convince Wash to leave him alone. He opened his door silently, yawning with exhaustion. His eyes shot open at the sight before him. 

 

Wash’s sweatpants hung low around his thighs. His hand working his erect cock, eyes shut tight, head thrown back in his throes of pleasure. Soft gasps and moans traveled through his lips. Wash arched off of  _ Tucker _ ’s bed, and clawed at the sheets with his free hand. 

 

“Hnn, T-Tucker.” Wash hummed, and Tucker couldn’t drag his eyes away. It seemed the blonde hadn’t noticed him, so instead, he carefully closed the door, and decided to wait it out. 

 

What the fuck did he just see? He needed a run through. A play by play. Wash, turned on completely, jerked himself off in Tucker’s bed. What? What the hell? Did Tucker mmss a fucking staff meeting?

 

The problem wasn’t that Wash wasn’t attractive in any way. In fact, he quite was. The way his eyebrows drew together and the way his mouth shaped when he spoke Tucker’s name. The breathy way he muttered out curses—but dammit, Tucker wasn’t supposed to be thinking that kind of thing. 

 

He needed to go in there, and tell Wash off. Wash was in  _ his  _ room. The man was... doing what Tucker normally did, but in Tucker’s room! That’s a violation of privacy...or something. If Church had ever done that at Blood Gulch, Tucker would have punched him! Or bitched him out! Or something equally as petty! 

 

But the way Wash looked, well, Tucker was having a hard time going in there and seeing it again. It must be because he was disgusted. It’s not because he wanted to see that—absolutely not. That was Wash in there. His leader, his partner. Not to mention, he didn’t want to give Wash the wrong idea. The man was hurt enough. And the way he coped with how much Tucker cared already.

 

But didn’t Doyle and the rest of the troops want him to do this? Hadn’t everyone been hinting at it? Maybe it was better if he did go in there do something. For the army, of course. It’s not like he wanted Wash. And even if he did...

 

That didn’t matter, Tucker would never have time to find out. He was far too busy with other preoccupying thoughts like:  _ I want my room back  _ and _ I desperately need sleep _ . He looked at the window at the end of the hall, that’s where his room was. He had chosen it because he knew for certain that it would be closest to the stairwell. 

 

Something akin to the moon shone through the heavy set of clouds that plagued the sky. Here on this planet, he was never sure what exactly occupied space with them. It made him homesick, for what place he didn’t know. At this point, what really was home? Worse still, in the window was his reflection, he looked like shit. Definitely not bangable material. 

 

The bridge of his nose was bruised, and beneath his eyes dark crevices. He realized that as he aged, as he experienced more and more, he looked less and less like the person he’d pictured he’d be. Sometimes he wondered if he even wanted to be that person anymore, but moments like this, it was more apparent than it had ever been. 

 

Right, focus. Wash was still in his room, he’d wasted enough time out here feeling bad for himself. He sucked in a deep breath, and opened the door once again. 

 

Wash had shifted positions again, legs spread wide, two fingers plunging in and out of his hole. Drool pooled at the corner of his mouth, his eyes were open but they were staring at Tucker’s headboard, filled with a dazed and aroused expression. He thrusted back into the fingers, whining sensually. 

 

Tucker swallowed thickly. How was he supposed to yell at Wash when the man was so lost in pleasure he couldn’t recognize Tucker’s arrival? 

 

“Fuck me, ah, Tucker.” He grinded against the mattress, keeping his freehand away from his cock.

 

Tucker inhaled sharply, two course of actions running through his mind. The one he should go with: stop Wash, reprimand him—but he could imagine that too. Him telling Wash what he was doing was naughty, and Wash crawling into his lap sultrily, sticking his ass in the air for Tucker to spank it—no, Tucker. Or the one he wasn’t going to do, but kind of wanted to, which was push Wash in that bed and ask him to make good on his offer.

 

“Wash, what the  _ fuck  _ is going on?” he inquired. 

 

Wash rolled over, lustful eyes catching Tucker’s own. His pupils blown wide at Tucker’s arrival. He slowly pulled his fingers out, his breath catching in his throat. With a final touch of his erection, he rose out from his position.

 

For a brief moment he looked embarrassed, but then he shook his head as if he were getting down to business.“Tucker, are you just going to stand there all night?” Tucker stared in complete shock. While Wash acted like nothing happened—like he hadn’t just been moaning like a slut for Tucker to pin him to the mattress and fuck him. 

 

Tucker couldn’t even get his words to work, but Wash didn’t seem that bothered. He sauntered up to Tucker, fingers grabbing the top of Tucker’s undersuit, nearly dragging him to bed. “Wash, what? What the hell?” 

 

“You said we were going to talk—you meant that, didn’t you?” Wash looked like he was going to pout. 

 

“Uh, I mean, but you—Wash, what?” 

 

“I don’t want you going on that mission,” Wash stated, dangerously serious. He guided Tucker’s hands to his wrists. Wash’s hands of which were just all over that body of his, Tucker’s brain was short circuiting and he honestly had no idea what to do to stop what was happening. 

 

Wash collapsed in the bed, Tucker nearly falling on top of him. “Wash, you were just in my bed—”

 

The blonde’s face seemed to heat up in a blush, but he ignored the question. “Don’t change the subject. I don’t want you going on that mission.” 

 

“Wash, are you seriously going on about that? Carolina, Kimball, and Doyle approve of me going.” He thought briefly on Doyle’s expressed concern earlier. And Kimball’s agreeance that perhaps Tucker doing what Wash wanted was for the best. If Wash wanted Tucker around indefinitely, should he stay? That’s not what Kimball had implied during the meeting itself. “Look, Wash. I’m in charge of my own choices.” Tucker said with his heaviest, most determined voices.

 

Wash’s eyelashes fluttered, and he reached up to caress Tucker’s cheek. “Listen, I know you’re in charge of you, but—” 

 

Tucker almost hesitated, almost faltered, but with a confident tone he reiterated, “I’m in charge, Wash. Do you understand me?” It felt natural to take charge—for once, he had some control over what was going on in his shitstorm of a life. He watched Wash sink into the bed, seemingly feeling the same way Tucker did. 

 

“I’m going to go on that mission—”

 

“Tucker, please—” Wash begged, but Tucker wasn’t sure exactly what he was begging for. He knew what they were doing at the moment was wrong, but he couldn’t stop his knee from brushing Wash’s erection, tightening his grip on his wrists. “Tucker—” 

 

“I  _ am  _ going, and I promise you Wash, I’ll come back to you.” This was what Doyle wanted, right? 

 

Wash leaned into Tucker’s frame, burying his face in Tucker’s neck. He breathed in carefully, and licked a long stripe on Tucker’s neck. Tucker shuddered and shoved Wash back onto the mattress, hovering over him. The blonde huffed, weakly pulling against Tucker’s grasp. Looking like he wanted to do far more than this. 

 

It was wrong, so unbearably wrong, that Tucker was doing this. He kept telling himself—this is what they told me to do, this is what they wanted me to say. Get Wash to be agreeable, show Wash he was here and that he was strong enough that Wash didn’t have to be in control anymore. He knew deep in his heart he was trying to find excuses, but it was Wash. Washington, the freckled freelancer who had stood by Tucker through the hardest of times. Who cared about Tucker—didn’t abandon Tucker like so many other people did. Like Church did. 

 

Tucker leaned down, lips so close to Wash’s. Too close, it was too close. He wasn’t ready to kiss Wash—he didn’t have feelings for Wash. He was doing this because he needed to help Wash. That didn’t involved kissing. Wash didn’t seem to share Tucker’s sentiments, because he leaned up chasing a kiss. Trying to get Tucker to do something. 

 

Tucker contemplated how strange it all was. Wash being... like this. But if he thought about it, thought about something Kaikaina had told him about, it made sense. Wash acted with his big freelancer facade, but the man actually loved drinking from bendy straws and pouring copious amounts of sugar into things that didn’t need it. The way he used to preen when Carolina would compliment him, would tell him exactly what to do. Wash needed this, and he worked himself into a possessive, obsessive, frenzy when he thought he couldn’t fix a situation. All Wash needed was proof that he didn’t have to worry. That he didn’t have to be in charge.

 

Was that what he was like in Freelancer? 

 

“Tucker, come on,” Wash complained, taking on his normal voice a bit more. Underneath all of the betrayal, all of the hurt, Wash’s tone was playful, indignant, carefree. The person Wash must have been—who was that person? Is this all that was left? Tucker pinning Wash to the bed, holding him steadfastly, keeping his knees’ pace consistent and where  _ he  _ wanted it, not Wash—was that the only way to bring out this side of Wash?

 

Tucker smirked, “Wash, if I recall, you taught me two fundamental things in training. Patience and endurance. You remember that?” To get Wash. To help Wash. To keep Wash sane. 

 

“I remember, but... maybe I need a reminder. If you don’t show me through it, I might mess up. And, you know what I always say: mistakes are worthy of punishment,” Wash said breathily, trying to rub his crotch on Tucker at a faster rate. 

 

“You’re cute, Wash,” Tucker growled. He was doing this for him. Doing this for the army. But really, why was he doing this, again? He had too many reasons and all of them didn’t sound true anymore. “Put your hands around the bars of the headboard. If you move them, you get ten spankings.” 

 

Wash groaned guttarly. “Maybe,” he panted, “I want you to punish me. Maybe I like it when you’re hitting my ass raw—it feels so good after I’ve just fingered myself for you.” 

 

Fuck. Wash fingered himself  _ for  _ Tucker. He practically anticipated this whole thing. “Or, perhaps I could change your punishment into me just walking out.” And wasn’t that just cruel? He knew it was from the way Wash’s eyes widened, tears blinking into them. He violently shook his head in protest, clutching around Tucker’s shoulders. 

 

“I won’t, I won’t, please don’t go, I can’t—” Yeah, tere was no way Tucker could fuck him right now. 

 

Tucker placed a hand on Wash’s chest, pressing him back down. The movement was meant to steady him, but Wash interpreted it as Tucker pushing away to leave. “No, hey, Wash, I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.” 

 

“Can I suck you off, please?” Tucker’s mouth dropped open in shock. Jesus Christ, Wash was going to give him a heart attack. “I wanna prove that I’m good for you, so please.” Wash’s big watery eyes looked so lost in that moment, Tucker didn’t know how to stop himself when he said yes. 

 

“Of course, baby.” Wash’s ears tinged red, drinking in the nickname. He seemed like he wanted a kiss, and tried to gain one, but Tucker was sticking with his previous rule. No kissing. He didn’t love Wash, he just needed to do this to prove a point to Wash’s warped mind. And god, wasn’t this fucked up. 

 

Wash seemed about to cry at the rejection, and Tucker wondered if that was a thing too. He remembered hearing about the betrayal of C.T., and wondered just what she would’ve said to him. She must’ve broken his heart. 

 

The shorter man shook his head, pushing Tucker onto his knees in front of Wash. Before Tucker could say or do anything, Wash was undoing Tucker’s pants with his teeth. And goddamn, Wash was the most attractive person in the world. He buried his face in Tucker’s crotch, almost looking crazed to find Tucker’s cock.

 

“I can’t wait to taste it,” he mumbled as soon as he managed to tear off Tucker’s clothes. “I’m going to be so good for you, you’ll never need anyone else.” Wash smiled up at him, the picture of pure innocence, before diving his head down to take Tucker into his mouth. The warm wet heat was exhilarating, and he couldn’t help but buck into Wash’s mouth. 

 

He smirked when Wash moaned, shooting vibrations up Tucker’s length. He could barely bring himself to speak, but he knew he had to maintain this role he’d created. “You like that, don’t you Wash? Like my cock down your throat? Such a good slut. Don’t worry baby, I’m with you.” Because  _ that  _ is what Wash wanted to hear so terribly. Wanted to know that Tucker would take control, that Tucker would keep him around. It seemed both of them had been abandoned too much. 

 

It didn’t take Tucker long to come into Wash’s mouth, and it  _ also  _ didn’t surprise him nearly as much as it should that the blonde drank it down greedily. Wash glanced up at him, looking like a hot mess. His hair mussed, and his face the color of a fire truck. That dazed expression clouded his features again, and Tucker didn’t know what to do. 

 

Where did he take this next? 

 

“Wash, this was, interesting to say the least.” Wash’s blue eyes watered, and Tucker felt wracked with guilt. They didn’t tell him what to do next from here! No one told him that Wash would lose himself so passionately in this, and no one told Tucker to cater to it. “Did you want to sleep in here? I can go out—”

 

“Please don’t, Tucker,” he said, with a fleeting moment of sanity. Wash put his hand on Tucker’s chest, eyes flickering to his lips, intimating his desire to simply lean in and claim them for his own. Tucker could tell easily, could catch what Wash wanted when they were this close. And he knew when to turn his head when Wash leaned in. 

 

He didn’t want to say anything about it. Didn’t want to have this conversation. “Goodnight Wash.”

 

Wash whined, a small note in the back of his throat. “Tucker, what are you doing?” He pulled Tucker over from his side of the bed, throwing one of his own legs over Tucker’s waist. Delicately, he leaned down to capture Tucker’s lips. 

 

Tucker strained his head out of the way. Nope, no, nada, no way, he was not about to kiss Wash after tonight. He just couldn’t bring himself to. The thought of what it meant. The connotations it held—he couldn’t bring himself to engage in that level of intimacy. 

 

“Tucker? Are you stupid?” Wash asked. 

 

Tucker chuckled, because that sounded like the Wash he knew. “Hey Wash, come on let’s not throw around names,” he joked, thinking of all of their time together in the canyon. How common they would find themselves in this banter. 

 

“No, I’m being serious Tucker. Is there a reason you’re avoiding... you know,” Wash trailed off, looking both hurt and embarrassed. 

 

Tucker played the fool. “Avoiding what? Are you getting post-sex sensitive?” He nudged him, smiling. 

 

Wash rolled his eyes. “You didn’t even finish me.” He glanced down at himself, then back up to Tucker. The jest felt like the Wash he knew best. Even if the context was something he wouldn’t have ever pictured in the past.

 

“You want me to, baby? Stretch you real nice for me...” Tucker said, naturally falling into what felt the most normal. 

 

Wash whimpered, but didn’t say a thing for a moment. “No, I want you to kiss me.” 

 

Tucker heaved a sigh, and tried to roll away. “I’m going to bed, Wash.” Wash crashed forward, lips catching Tucker’s cheek. 

 

A soft sad sound echoed in the room. “You don’t want to kiss me,” Wash mumbled, a soft hiccup in his throat. “You don’t want me, I’m sorry.” His voice tightened to how it normally sounded. The blonde buried his head on Tucker’s chest, the soft tufts of hair tickled him. “Why don’t you want me? What do I have to do?” 

 

Tucker closed his eyes tight, trying to avoid this. “Wash, just let it go.” 

 

Wash choked out a hurt laugh. “Let it go? The person I’ve been pining after finally beds me, but they won’t even kiss me. Am I that disgusting? That broken? That you don’t want to kiss me?” 

 

“No!” Tucker responded. Wash was doing  _ really  _ well at breaking Tucker’s resolve so far. “No, Wash, that’s just messed up!” 

 

“Then  _ why _ ?” Wash tightened his grip around Tucker, sounding so upset and Tucker knew it was his own fault. He shouldn't have confronted Wash, should’ve just let him finish in Tucker’s room. Buried it until after this war was over, and they all walked away.

 

Tucker moved his hand to Wash’s hair. “Because kissing doesn’t matter to me,” Tucker lied. Praying Wash didn’t know that. 

 

“Well it matters to me, and you promised me you wouldn’t leave. Promised you’d be with me. Please, Tucker, I want you.” Wash leaned up and barely managed to brush his lips against Tucker’s, holding them there. It took every ounce of restraint that Tucker didn’t have to not engage in the kiss. “I can’t kiss you if you don’t kiss me, Tucker.” 

 

Tucker shrugged. “I’m going to sleep. Stop being a baby, Wash.” Wash retracted abruptly, tears glistening behind the rims of his eyes. Tucker knew the right choice was to say something to Wash, but he was exhausted, and confused, and every emotion in between. 

 

He heard Wash sniffle, hanging off of him, and Tucker drifted off to sleep. 


	6. 6.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker goes to visit Caboose and runs into the one person he'd been trying to avoid. At least he has Donut to cheer him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter six! it's here! slowly but surely, tucker and wash are going to be happy. i promise. and then... well, i won't say.  
> thanks to my beta, as always! PeculiarProjects read her stuff! she's more talented than i am!  
> enjoy!

The sixth time it happened, it was the only person that Tucker thought would maybe understand what he was experiencing. He knew the way Wash talked to Caboose was the same way an overprotective parent would. And for a long time, he’d thought him and Wash had a similar relationship, but it turned out he was wrong—very wrong.

 

If Tucker was honest, he could almost understand why it was different. Not to boost his own ego, but he had developed into a pretty damn good soldier, and had a knack for making a name for himself. So Wash not only felt the need to protect him, but keep him around.

 

Was that too arrogant? He felt bad thinking it. But it was true! Tucker had been slowly putting pieces of the puzzle together. Constantly jealous, clingy, and didn’t trust Tucker to be on his own. It all amounted to Tucker potentially leaving him, right? Wash was afraid that Tucker was going to leave him behind. And _that_ was overwhelming, because Tucker just wasn’t ready for that level of commitment.

 

He ignored and suppressed the small part of him that wanted something similar. The same part that had been left behind by Church over and over again. How often he’d been played for a fool. He wasn’t the same as Wash, but he understood it.

 

He was laying in bed, Wash’s head on his shoulder. He contemplated to himself how to get out of this situation. It wasn’t even that he was uncomfortable. Wash’s body was refreshing and cool against his, but it was _so wrong._ After what had happened the night before, Tucker needed to get out of there. Fast.

 

“Mmm, Tucker? Where are you goin’?” Wash asked blearily. Eyes blinking just a bit—dammit, dammit, Tucker didn’t want to talk to the blonde just yet, he needed to get him back to sleep.

 

“Heya, Wash. Just going to the bathroom, you don’t have to wake up for...” He glanced at his helmet, not able to see the HUD. “a bit yet...” he amended, cringing at his lack of tact.

 

Wash sighed, “Don’t go.”

 

Tucker dropped down back into bed, letting Wash snuggle back onto him. He wrapped his arms around Wash’s strong figure, one around the torso, the other behind his neck. Softly, he toyed with Wash’s hair, not pulling hard enough to hurt, but putting enough tension that Wash would surely feel it.

  
Wash mewled, rocking his hips against Tucker’s thigh contentedly. “Tucker, so good.” Tucker relaxed his movements, trying to coax Wash into sleep again. “I won’t let him get you, don’t worry,” Wash muttered.

 

Tucker had no idea what that meant, and didn’t really feel like analyzing it. As far as he knew, Wash could be thinking about Epsilon. Everyone knew that Wash’s sleep schedule was constantly interrupted due to his ongoing recovery process. It was likely Wash would never be better from the nightmares he was plagued with.

 

He rolled them over carefully, keeping Wash close to his chest. This was _so much_ easier with chicks. Why the hell was Wash so... in shape? He was muscled and heavy. Nothing like the girls he was used to recently, or even the guys he’d spent time with in the past. Not as frequently, but the general idea was still the same.

 

He managed to remove himself from Wash’s death grip, keeping the sleeping man in the same state. Feeling both awkward and bad for leaving him, even though it was _Tucker_ ’s room. The poor dude would wake up dazed and confused, but as far as Tucker was concerned, that seemed to be a pretty frequent occurrence.

 

He threw on the lower half of his armor, but noticed that Wash began to stir at the soft sounds of the pieces clicking together, and stopped. He would just have to wear his kevlar exclusively on his top—that was fine with him, made him easier to ogle. For the ladies, to ogle him, that was. Not Wash, he really didn’t want to deal with that right now.

 

Tucker, unsure what his plan was yet, resigned himself to walk aimlessly for a small time.  He knew that very few people were awake, if Wash wasn’t. And it’s not like he could go to the infirmary to check on Caboose yet. He knew for a _fact_ that Emily was up and running at this hour—probably not yet have slept—and wouldn’t let him in. Which was an unreal Blue Team bias, because Sarge always got to go in there whenever he wanted. Gross, old people.

 

The thought reminded him of Sister, and he had to bite back a laugh.

  
He thought about when Wash had told him about his first encounter with Kai, and honestly, it summed them both up pretty well. He started to smile when he remembered hearing Wash’s impression of her—Wash was so good at impressions.

 

 _“Tucker, you should’ve seen her, ‘What’re you a cop? Fuck off, cop!’ I can’t believe you know her.”_ He did the raspy voice, lifting his voice up in octaves like he only did when he was mad.

 

 _“More than know her—bow chicka bow wow.”_ Wash had shot him a look, and back then Tucker had taken it as concern for Tucker’s standards, which was offensive. Kai may sleep around, but she has feelings too. Tucker never had time to comment on it, because Grif’s older brother senses kicked in and chased him with the Grifshot.

 

Man, he missed those few days at Valhalla. He missed a lot, nowadays. Every feeling he had was clouded by duty and rank. All he ever got to do was run around, waving guns around, shouting orders at kids who didn’t deserve to be in war. Especially not against those cockbites, Felix and Locus. He _hated_ them.

 

He hated them because he was terrified of them. He wanted them dead, and he put on a brave face in front of these kids who were shaking in their armor. Because some rich white guy wanted to become more rich. The same white guy who had locked Wash up in prison, because of Freelancer’s crimes. And worse still, the person who abused his position of power as Chairman in the UNSC Oversight Committee.

 

Tucker longed for the days when he didn’t _care_ who he was fighting. When he didn’t have to worry about the politics of the whole thing. He missed when he didn’t have to attend briefings and instead just listened to Alpha come up with a plan and maybe or maybe not execute it. The good old days. Back when he had a consistent best friend, a home.

 

He realized he’d ended up in the Lieutenants’ barracks. He glanced at the old grandfather clock that sat on a ledge, protruding from the wall. He believed it was Andersmith who put it there, but he would never know for sure. The clock was dusty and old, evident from the small cracks in glass work, but he could still read the time: 5:20.

 

“That early?” Tucker inquired out loud. He _never_ woke up this early. This was just out of character for him.

 

“Early! It’s not early! You’re early!”

  
“Palomo, shut the fuck up!”

 

“Yeah, Charles, you’re going to— _achoo_ —blow our cover.”

 

“I believe our cover has already been blown, or as Captain Caboose would say: The game of hide and go seek is over!”

 

Tucker sighed, long and heavy. “Palomo. Lieutenants. What the _hell_ are you doing?” Tucker asked, using the same voice he used with Junior when he was being out of line. “Why are you awake?”

 

“We aren’t awake early. You’re awake early,” Palomo responded quickly, before grimacing. “I’m sorry, dad!”

 

Tucker blinked slowly. Bitters snorted, Jensen winced, and Andersmith nodded stoically. “Palomo, did you just call Tucker, dad?” The scene was embarrassingly comical. If Tucker wasn’t so thrown off—and sentimental—he would’ve been laughing at Palomo calling him dad. It made him really miss his own son.

 

“Palomo, do you...have a dad?” Tucker found himself asking.

 

Palomo, and his stupid hair and his stupid heart-shaped face, with his big doe eyes and watery smile—Tucker didn’t care about this kid’s answer. “No, I don’t anymore.” He hiccuped softly, and Jensen rubbed her hand up and down his back.

 

“None of us do, you moron,” Bitters said, but he didn’t seem mad. Tired, distant, maybe even melancholic. And Tucker was once again hit by the fact that these people were _young_. “Palomo, go over and hug him.”

 

Palomo scrambled forward, grabbing Tucker in a hug. Now, Tucker was used to hugs from three other people. His son, who dwarfed him in size, being a rather hefty and well built Elite. Caboose, who hugged like the person was his favorite, no matter who. And recently, Wash, who hugged possessively and in fear. But this? This was different. Palomo, tiny and frail, Palomo, wrapped his arms around Tucker’s strong middle, and held him as if he would disappear the moment he let go.

 

So of course, Tucker reluctantly hugged him back. Because, Tucker too didn’t have a father. And Tucker had lost his mother.  Tucker had been abandoned by everyone, betrayed by countless, and _hurt_. Yeah, maybe Tucker wanted to hit Palomo upside the head, but he would let him have this.

 

“Hey, you okay, buddy?” Tucker asked, pitying the kid. This _stupid_ kid, with his stupid face and his big heart. Palomo nodded against his chest, not looking interested in moving. “Do...do you all needs hugs?”

 

“I hugged Agent Washington a week ago, so I’m on the schedule for needing another one,” Jensen mumbled, stumbling forward to join the hug.

 

Palomo smiled, and Tucker could feel it against his shirt. “You and Wash are my parents now, sorry, I don’t make the rules, Jensen does.”

 

Tucker winced, thinking about Wash passed out in his bed. Thinking about how _happy_ Wash would probably be to hear that. “Never tell him that, he’d hit all of us.” Of course, the Lieutenants didn’t know what Wash was like behind closed doors. They only knew him as the hardass drill sergeant who wasn’t as hard as he seemed.

 

“Wash and Tucker? I thought Tucker liked... every girl ever. Except maybe Jensen.” Jensen hit Bitters, and Bitters shrugged. “Tucker you’re like, straight, man.”

 

“I keep my options open,” Tucker answered, “which is okay.”

 

Andersmith nodded. “Captain Caboose said that you’re options are limited to how you’re feeling. You were very sad when Wash was gone. And now he’s back. Perhaps you are the parents of this _army_. That must be what Caboose meant.”

 

“Dude, you need to stop reading into what Caboose says. No one benefits from it.” Tucker smiled though, because Bitters and Andersmith seemed to reluctantly join the hug in the hallway. “Wait a minute, this was all a distraction. What are you kids doing awake?”

 

“Who us?” Palomo asked, innocently. Stepping back, bringing the rest of the gang with him. “You mean us? What are _we_ doing?”

  
“Is that a trick question? Uh, yes?” Tucker laughed.

 

Andersmith looked ready to burst. “Captain Tucker, I cannot bear to lie anymore! We had convinced Dr. Grey to let us see Captain Caboose. He is doing better. We were actually looking for a way to make him a card.”

 

“Caboose is okay?” He asked quickly, heart racing. “Take me to see him,” and then added, “please,” to be a good influence on Palomo. Stupid kid. Stupid kid who seemed to have more depth than Tucker had ever given him credit for.

 

The Lieutenants led him to the medical wing. He didn’t need them to come with, but he rather enjoyed their soft banter. It reminded him of Grif and Simmons, reminded him of Church and Caboose. Sarge, ranting, Donut, humming. It was the constant buzz he was so familiar with. He needed it.

 

“Do you need to be alone, Captain?” Jensen asked, gesturing to the broad white doors. Did he? Probably.

 

Andersmith pressed a hand on his shoulder. “Caboose kept saying ‘Wash knows about Therapy Money.’ I don’t know what he meant, exactly, but it’s Caboose, so it’s safe to assume it was right.” Tucker didn’t get Andersmith. He was so goddamn smart, but he was so ignorant. He would have fit right in at Freelancer—blindly following orders.

 

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Tucker didn’t know what Therapy Money meant, but he hoped it was something _actually_ important. And it also involved Wash, which, didn’t seem to be great for anyone.

 

He pressed through the doors, waiting for the Lieutenants to part. Jensen and Palomo walked shoulder to shoulder, Andersmith had an arm thrown around the both of them. Bitters seemed to be walking with them still, but kept out of arm's reach.

 

He saw the curtain that belonged to Caboose, as it was marked with his name in large print. Dr. Grey must have written it to cheer him up. It was the small thoughtful things she did like so that made her not only a great surgeon but a rather trusty friend. Even if Tucker was _terrified_ of her.   


“Good morning, Caboose. I wanted to check on you after yesterday.” Tucker heard a familiar voice—one that didn’t yet see him. Wash must have decided to check on him, at least that was consistent. “I wanted to ask about what you said yesterday, do you remember buddy?”

 

“Oh, yes! I do, I remember—” He sputtered off in a fit of coughs. “I’m very sorry, I must be sick! I do not want you to catch the sick.”

 

Wash sighed, Tucker saw his shadow hover closer to Caboose’s bed. Wash loved running his hands through other people’s hair. He believed it calmed them down—Tucker knew this, because Wash had told him himself in the canyon. “I won’t catch it, don’t worry. Now, what do you remember?”

 

“Okay. Well. I was in the base. And I got hit,” Caboose answered.

 

Wash, who was always more patient than Church, just nodded. “Okay, and after that? What happened?”

 

“The mean big one said to watch out for Therapist Money. Or did he say Therapy Cost? Well, uh yeah, now I don’t know. He said something and then said ‘Grr, you tell them, you get to live.’ It was very scary. I do not like him very much.”

 

“No,” Wash hissed, “I don’t like him either.” Tucker’s skin chilled, goosebumps covering his skin, alarmed at hearing those words. “I’m going to make him pay, Caboose. Okay? For you. For Tucker.”

  
Caboose laughed softly. “Yeah, uh, he doesn’t like Tucker. Says Tucker isn’t good for you. I don’t know why he says it like that. It’s not like you would eat Tucker.” Tucker thought about Wash’s warm mouth engulfing him yesterday, looking up with hungry eyes.

 

Wash must have had a similar thought, because he coughed in embarrassment. “Well, Caboose, Tucker is perfect for me. Locus doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s just...upset with his own partner. And doesn’t like how well Tucker and I work together.” He sighed dreamily. “Do you think I’m good for Tucker?”

 

“I don’t know, if Tucker eats you. Do you let him? Is that why you have bruises on your neck? See sometimes Church would talk about it. It was weird. Gross. I do not want anyone eating me,” Caboose prattled on.

 

Wash seemed rather happy, “Don’t tell him this, but I wouldn’t mind if he did.” Tucker gawked. A little bit unnerved, and though he’d never admit it, a little turned on? Of course Wash would like to be marked up. Tucker shouldn’t be particularly shocked by that information.

 

“Ah, a secret. You know, Church used to say I was the best at keeping secrets. Well, he said the worst, but I know he meant best.”

 

“Have you seen Tucker anywhere?” Wash asked him, ignoring the comment about Church. There was never much that could be said. “I wanted to see him. I miss him.” He nudged Caboose, “kind of like how you miss Church.”

 

“Ah, but I love Church! Do you love Tucker? Tucker once said he thinks love is boring. He only loves Junior,” Caboose said, and Tucker frowned. Yes, he had said that, but part of him hoped it would never reach Wash’s ears. “He said that people in love are people who get hurt. Church and Tex were in love. Is that what he meant?”

 

“I... don’t know, Caboose.” Wash seemed to be pulling away from his bed disappointedly. “There are lots of loves out there. I can’t blame Tucker for feeling that way. I know exactly how it feels.” And with a guttural growl, he hissed out, “That’s why I _won’t_ lose you two.”

  
Caboose nodded enthusiastically, breaking off into more coughs. “Do you love me too? This is so exciting! I love you Agent Washington! But I do not want to kiss you. That would be very weird. Tucker loved Church, but he did not kiss him. Can I do that?”

 

Tucker’s heart constricted in his chest. Yeah, he did love Church. He missed Alpha, missed Blood Gulch. He barely knew Epsilon before he was thrown into a mess with him. He loved Church, and Church left over and over. What kind of best friend does that? He had wondered that for years before he came to his answer. One that wasn’t really a best friend. Church wasn’t his own person because Church only loved Tex. He loved _her._ He spent years and years chasing her, thinking about her, loving her. He ran off to die with _her_.

 

Love of any kind hurt. Because Tex left Church again, and again. And Tucker watched the man crumble bit by bit. He didn’t understand the way Wash thought, whereas Tucker would rather disregard love altogether and bury his emotions in sex. Wash would fight with fury to ensure he would never lose love again.

 

“Yes, Caboose. I don’t want to kiss you either,” Wash confirmed, “but, if I do kiss Tucker, it’s not that I love him more than you.”

 

Caboose shrugged. “It’s okay if you do. I love Church more than you guys. But I still love you a lot.” He paused, “Church is always very busy playing with numbers. He said he would play with me never. But then he apologized.”

 

“Oh. Caboose.” Wash seemed to move in, playing with Caboose’s hair. “Have you seen Tucker anywhere?”

 

“Let me guess. You want to kiss him. I won’t tell him!” Tucker would tell anyone anywhere he hated Caboose, but deep down, his childlike nature and naivety had become so set in stone that Tucker couldn’t imagine all the hard times he went through without it.

 

Wash rose to stand, “I know you won’t. But you haven’t seen him? Hasn’t he come in?”

 

Caboose shook his head. “It is very early, Agent Washington. Tucker likes sleeping in a lot. Almost as much as his sword. He is probably still asleep. But! I did see Andersmith and his friends. They are very nice.”

 

“Okay, thank you, Caboose. Get some rest, okay? I need to go find Tucker. We have a lot to talk about.” Wash stood, and Tucker scrambled to get out of where Wash could see him. Ducking behind an unused bed, watching as Wash took his confident steps out of the room. He did a quick survey, that suspicious look ever present in his eyes.

 

Tucker gulped, because _that was too close._ He really didn’t want to deal with confrontation. Especially after seeing Wash acting so normally around Caboose.

 

He waited patiently, knowing better than to risk Wash catching him out of his insane peripheral. He counted to three, slowly, before rising to his feet. He kept his steps quiet, surprised by how excited he was to see that Caboose was okay.

 

“Caboose, dude, what happened?”

 

Caboose huffed dramatically. “I have already told this story to everyone. You showed up too late.” Caboose smiled in that devious way he was only capable of when it involved Tucker. “But...if I get a cookie, maybe I will tell you.”

 

Tucker sent him a flat look. “Where am I going to get a cookie, Caboose?” Caboose didn’t bother looking up, he was busy playing with something on his helmet. He hated to admit it, but Caboose found ways to be rather creatively inventive.

 

“Where are you going to get an answer?” Caboose mocked. “See, that is the thing Tucker, gosh, I just don’t know. No cookie, no story.”

 

Tucker sighed, changing the topic. “Well, how are you feeling?”

 

Caboose glanced up from his work, a soft but tired smile appearing on his lips. “I am feeling okay, Tucker. But, I am sad. I lost a few friends on the way, they didn’t come back. I hope they’re okay.” He nodded assuredly, believing firmly that his friends were just a little bit behind. Tucker didn’t know how to tell them that they wouldn’t be coming back. He never managed to explain it with Church, but at least—luckily—he never had to. Say whatever you want about Church, but Tucker was certain he’d always come back.

 

“Yeah buddy. Yeah.” He couldn’t bear this topic anymore. He looked around the room, the silence of it eerie. The only sound filling it was the choppy heart monitors that didn’t seem to load at a proper rate. The white of the walls and the sheets were like snow, and the patients were the footprints messing it up. Tucker didn’t want footprints in the snow—he didn’t want anyone in this horrible infirmary.

 

“Tucker, you look sad too.” Caboose observed. “That is okay. Wash was looking for you earlier. I have just messaged him!” He gestured down to the helmet that blinked alive from an incoming message. “Oh my goodness! He will be so happy to see you! We can have a party!”

 

Tucker agreed, but then furrowed his brows. “Yeah, wait, what?” he gasped, “Caboose, why!”

 

“Well because he l—Ah, it is a secret!” He narrowed his eyes at Tucker, “You did not hear anything from me!”

 

Before Tucker could say anything further, the infirmary doors swung open. “Ah, Captain Tucker.” Wash greeted. Tucker’s stomach dropped. The blonde looked surprisingly well-rested, and the clothing he wore was _far_ too tight for Wash’s body but damn if it didn’t look great. “There you are.”

 

What did Tucker even do in this situation? The look on Wash’s face was the same when he found out Tucker was hiding from doing exercises. Devious, pissed off, and positively predatory. Tucker stepped back slowly.

 

“You know, I ran into the Lieutenants, and they said you came in here twenty minutes ago. Which is funny, Tucker, since _I_ was here twenty minutes ago.” He leveled him with an imploring stare. Searching for answers, and most notably, masking his hurt.

 

“Did they? Well, I was visiting the infirmary. So, yeah, they’re right. What’s up?”

 

Wash sniffed, “And...I would’ve seen you in here. Unless you were deliberately avoiding me.” The blonde’s breath caught in his throat. “You don’t want to see me.”

 

“What? No! No way, Wash. Of course I wanted to see you, you were just talking to Caboose, I decided to leave you alone. Right Caboose?” He sent Caboose a pleading look, hoping the fool of a man would agree.

 

“Yup! Tucker wants to kiss you, too,” Caboose stated confidently. “That’s what you wanted to hear, right?”

 

“Oh, you do?” Wash snapped, but a part of him looked overwhelmed with affection, a charming innocence dancing in his eyes. “Really, Tucker?” he questioned, stepping forwards—closer, closer, each step following the next.

 

Tucker swallowed. “Well Wash, we’re in public.” Tucker tried to to joke, “as much as I enjoy some good old voyeurism—”

 

Tucker would never be able to finish what he was saying, because Wash had grabbed Tucker’s kevlar suit, fingers in the collar. “I would kiss you in public, just to prove _I mean it_ when I say I’m yours.” He rose up, lips centimeters away from Tucker’s, and Tucker knew for a fact that Wash was going in for the kill.

 

And part of him wanted Wash to. Wanted to feel those lips pressed against his own, wanted to hold Wash in place and crash their mouths together in a fit of passion. He wanted to feel someone against him, someone who wouldn’t abandon him like Church.

 

But he couldn’t. It was Wash, and he didn’t even know for sure if he wanted him. He cleared the mental images of last night, trying not to remember the heat in Wash’s eyes. How Wash had moaned when Tucker grinded against his cock, leaving him breathless. He didn’t need to think about this—he shouldn’t.

 

He made a full body turn, Wash barely holding onto him. “Hey, Tucker, what are you doing?” Wash asked, cocking his head to the side. Eyes wide with devotion, it made Tucker’s fingers thrum from inactivity. He could easily grab Wash and push him against the wall, see if he could get Wash to make that same face from yesterday. “Tucker?”

 

“Just thinking. It’s early, right? I should grab breakfast.” He pointedly avoided the word we. Wash wasn’t directly invited out with him.

 

Wash’s face fell, his fingers followed Tucker’s hair. “Oh, well, I guess.” He settled on. “Tucker, I really like your hair.”

 

Of course Wash liked his dreads. Every lady did, and... Wash. They were _fucking_ badass. It was the one thing he kept from earth, and continued to grow. Aliens, side quests, fighting the reds, chasing the Director, whatever the hell it was he was up to, he had his hair. But maybe it was time to change it.

 

Things seemed to be changing all the time anyway, he was in a new era in his life. One of which contained a new version of Church. If that changed, then so should he. “Actually,” Tucker began, “I promised... Donut, I’d visit him. I don’t have time to chat Wash.”

 

“Ah, yes, ah, Tucker, I was just wondering if I could talk to you, because I needed to and... yes. That is all,” Caboose spoke up, and Tucker sent a wary look in Wash’s direction. Would Wash understand that as his cue?

 

“Oh, that’s fine. Tucker, will I be seeing you at breakfast?”

 

Tucker shrugged. “I wouldn’t bet on it.” He saw Wash’s frustration, and quickly amended his words, “You’d probably need to get your run done. I should be in the mess hall by then. You can sit by me then.” Wash nodded jovially, clinging to Tucker for an extra moment. “I’ll see you soon, alright?”

 

“Promise?” Wash questioned softly, every emotion he was feeling pouring into it at once. Tucker could hear his insecurity, his worry, and even more inspiring, his hope. Tucker knew Wash was a broken man, and he refused to contribute to it if he could help it.

 

“Yeah, I promise.”

 

Wash straightened out, regaining his composed look that read: Agent Washington, you better be afraid of me. “Hey, Tucker, I just wanted to let you know. I’m going to kill Locus for what he says about you.”

 

And _immediately,_ Tucker was losing his train of thought with Wash. Every time he thought the other man was settling in to his usual routines, he’d make a comment of the same caliber. Tucker found himself flattered and mortified. “Thanks, Wash,” Tucker answered, not really sure what else he could possibly say.

 

With a warm smile that Wash didn’t give out often, he headed out of the infirmary, leaving Tucker to talk to Caboose: again. Except this time, Caboose seemed a bit more sure about what was happening and seemed to genuinely want to talk to Tucker.

 

“Hey, uh yeah, um Tucker, see, Wash asked if he was good for you, and then he said you were perfect for him. I was worried he was planning on eating you. But then I remembered that Church has said that, and he did not eat Tex. No, uh, he just chased her through death itself and his former version tortured her to try and make her right. Um, and I don’t want that to happen, so...”

 

Caboose surprised Tucker sometimes. He couldn’t understand basic addition, but the complexity and tragedy of what the Director was doing—that was common knowledge to Caboose. Caboose _understood_ what was going on for once, and it somewhat frightened Tucker.

 

“Wash isn’t like Church,” Tucker assured. Making sure to not bring up the fact that Epsilon’s obsessive tendencies had quite literally been wired into his brain and then ripped out. “He just gets worried, about both of us.”

 

“Yes but, you see, ah, Wash wants you to do...stuff...with him. He doesn’t want to be like Church to you. He wants to be like... Sister was! Except maybe you and Wash would fight less.” Doubtful, considering, but Tucker didn’t bother saying it aloud. “I told him I like Church the best. And he said he felt that way about you.”

 

Tucker nodded. “Yes, he’s made this very clear to me.”

 

“Well Tucker, you are very stupid, so I need to tell you. Wash gets sad. Wash gets mad. Wash gets glad. The three ad’s.” Caboose looked to Tucker, seeming rather sure of himself. Tucker had _never_ heard someone call it that before, but again, interrupting Caboose was like trying to stop a train by hand. Only Wash could do it. And maybe Carolina.

 

“Okay Caboose, I understand.”

 

“Okay,” Caboose confirmed, coughing lightly. “Okay. Okay.” His fit of coughs grew louder, “Tucker, I’m not very healthy. Dr. Grey says I will be, but I need time. And a salve. I don’t know what that means.”

 

“Dr. Grey is going to take care of you, buddy. Wash and I will check in with her and you later, okay? Maybe I can convince Epsilon to come in and see you.” He smirked, thinking about how pissed off Church would be, despite how worried he had been. “You know, he was really freaked out when he heard you were hurt.”

 

Caboose gasped. “Oh! Oh good! I would like to see him very much. I can tell him all kinds of stories! He loves stories, Tucker.” The beaming look on Caboose’s face would be worth the bitching he would get from Church later, so worth it. Even if he would never admit it. “Now, get out, I want to see Church, not you.”

 

Tucker laughed all the way out the door.

 

*

 

Cornering Donut didn’t take long. Despite how the blonde may try, he wasn’t as sneaky as he’d like to be. He only slipped out of people’s grips—especially Death himself—because he had so much goddamn lube. Tucker would admit the extra lube came in handy in case they ran out, but it was a little weird.

 

“Ohh, hey there Tucker,” Donut greeted awkwardly, looking around. “You didn’t bring Wash with you, did you?”

 

Tucker managed to suppress his groan. “No, look, what? No, Donut. I needed a favor.”

 

Donut stared at him. “A favor.” When silence permeated the room, Donut continued. “From me.”

 

Tucker let his eyes roam the room in a dramatic and sarcastic fashion. “No, the other Donut I know.”

 

Donut heaved a sigh of relief before registering that Tucker was joking. “Very funny, Mister. But I don’t owe you any favors. Red Team seems to always have to  touch Blue Team’s junk!”

 

“Why did you have to phrase it like that?—Look, it doesn’t matter, Donut, what the hell is your deal?”

 

Donut huffed. “What is _my_ deal? I haven’t had any time with my team! Red Team is always split up running missions separately! Because Wash won’t let you go on anything! You big dummy! Sarge is right, Blue Team is a disaster.”

 

Tucker threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Donut, I don’t fucking know what you’re talking about, but that’s not why I came here. I came here to ask you to cut my hair.”

 

Donut, who was _this_ close to going off on a tangent, halted in his words. “You want me to cut your hair.” Tucker was certain he looked off-put and nervous. Maybe Donut’s ominous excitement was intentional, his goal to throw Tucker off. “To make your hair look super in style.”

 

“...Yes?”

 

Donut cheered. “Oh, I am so excited. I forgive you, for now.” Tucker gulped in fear. Donut held grudges but it seemed he was capable of putting them aside. Temporarily. Either way, Tucker would take it. “I’m thinking a mid-fade. Ooh, this is so exciting! What’s your natural hair like? What kind of shampoo do you like? Any particular scents?”

 

Mid-fade? What was Donut on about? Was that the—wow, Donut was planning a drastic change. Donut was chirping on about something or another, snatching Tucker’s hand and leading him out of apartment building where Tucker had found him.

 

“There was an old salon place before everything went to hell around here. I’m going to have to ask you let down your hair, and gosh, this is so awesome!” he sang, a melodious tone belting from his throat. “You’re going to look so good, everyone’s going to want to fuck you!”

 

Tucker, who would normally be happy to hear that, found himself thinking about how upset Wash would be. He pictured Wash’s dark blue eyes, recoiling in hurt when he found out that Tucker wanted to be with other people. That Tucker didn’t want to settle down. It shouldn’t make him feel guilty, he didn’t owe Wash anything. That was why he was getting his hair cut in the first place.

 

Donut hit his arm lightly. “Did you hear my suggestion? I wanted to give you a design on the side of your head! Something like your sword. Wouldn’t that be cool?” Tucker rolled his eyes, but Donut kept on blabbering about how excited he was until they strolled up to their destination. Donut’s hand was so thin in his own, nails coated with a crisp pink.

 

Tucker let himself get pulled into the salon and violently pressed into the chair. “Damn Donut, if you push me like that I might get the wrong idea.” He winked, and Donut didn’t even blush. He waved Tucker off, immune to the Blue’s charms.

 

“You’d get the wrong idea anyway,” Donut hummed, dancing around him with various assortments of products and a myriad of sinister looking tools. “Okay, so, you can’t look in the mirror or I’ll throw something at you!”

 

Tucker gaped; not Donut’s throwing arm! That dude could fucking toss more than Tucker—in more way than one! And Tucker thought he was resident masturbator. He smiled at his own joke, sometimes, being immature really paid off.

 

“Alright, but for the record, if you make me look bad, I will literally kill you.”

 

Donut had already began working, “Now, I’m no professional, but—” he snipped off a giant chunk of Tucker’s hair. It felt like a weight had fallen off of him—he couldn’t remember the last time he had his hair so short. Each cut felt like he was becoming a new person, and it _terrified_ him. He was changing.

 

He intently focused on the surroundings, trying not to feel bad about his petty decision to chop off his hair just because Wash liked it. The salon looked like people still used it, but no one worked there. It was empty and primarily existent because every now and then someone who knew how would take their friend in and fix up their hair.

 

“Gosh Tucker, your hair texture is so interesting! Let’s head over to the sink to really wash what’s left.” Donut practically leapt and bound ahead of Tucker, turning on the running water. Tucker would admit having Donut in the desert was helpful, even if the guy was a little fucking weird.

 

His head fell heavily into the sink. He could only see the blank white ceiling, and it made him think of Caboose. The thought made him feel sick. Caboose shouldn’t be in there, shouldn’t be wheezing for breath confined to a bed. Caboose hated boring things, and that blank canvas of a room would never stimulate his child like brain.

 

Caboose’s words rung in his head. Wash wanted to be good for him. Wash thought Tucker was perfect for him. Wash wasn’t like Church, but he _was._ Church had been in his head, left his residual desires, changed his brain’s wiring.

 

“Uh, hey Tucker, we’re gonna move. Are you okay?” Donut asked, sounding the most concerned and genuine he had since the other night.

 

Tucker nodded, stretching his joints as he walked to join Donut’s walk back to his seat. “I’m really sorry about the whole mission thing. I’m trying to fix Wash’s head. He just, really doesn’t...”

 

“Doesn’t want you gone.” Donut filled in the blank quickly, ducking his head. “Wash has been very vocal about it.” With his melancholy tone, he added, “I know it’s not your fault. The other Reds are still pretty mad, though.”

 

Tucker knew that. Grif had been avoiding him like the plague, Simmons in tow. Sarge made sure to avoid catching his gaze all the time. It hurt, Tucker would admit. But he understood the reasoning for it. They were bitter and upset, and it was partially Tucker’s fault. He didn’t want to deal with his problem, so he let it fester to the point where it affected his friends. He would deal with anything Wash would throw at him, if it just meant he could have a beer with Grif and talk about sports again.

 

“Okay, well, I’m going to use this,” Donut said, breaking the silence. He held up an electric razor, inching it closer to his head. “I’ll keep it pretty much fully shaved up until here,” he stopped just above Tucker’s ear, “and layer it upwards from there. Tucker, I didn’t know your hair was wavy!”

 

“Got it from my dad. Mom said he was a handsome devil. Clearly the genes passed down, Tucker joked, gesturing to himself sexily.

 

Donut snorted. “Of course.” He placed a hand on Tucker’s shoulder and changed the blade of the razor to something thicker. “Do you ever think about your parents?”

 

“No,” Tucker responded fairly quick. “They’re both long dead.”

 

Donut frowned. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

 

“Don’t be, man. It’s in the past.”

 

Donut took that for face value and heaved a sigh. “I wonder if my parents accept me yet. I left to join the war to prove I could be gay and talented. But, then I ended up in the Red army. Just goes to show how wrong I was.” He laughed weakly, “At least you’re good at what you do. You just didn’t try.”

 

Tucker turned his head to look at Donut, seeing the man in his fitting undersuit, radiating shine. “Dude, no one gives a shit who’s more talented. We’ve saved the world. We’re saving another planet. Just because I can swing my sword—in more way than one—” Donut smiled softly, “doesn’t make me better. You make people happy, you help people in a different way than me.”

 

Donut grinned. “You think so?”

 

Tucker narrowed his eyes. “Come on, Donut, of course. Now stop crying,” he admonished.

 

Donut wiggled his finger, looking positively delighted. “Oh Tucker, I wouldn’t cry, this foundation was expensive.” With a mischievous grin, he brought the razor back to his head. “Now hold still, Tucker, you’re about to be the best looking you’ve ever been.”

 

Tucker knew he gave Red Team a lot of shit, but they had been with him for years. They knew him, and they were always around for him to rely on. Hell, Tucker would admit he was envious of how closely they stuck together. Where Tucker was continuously left behind. At least he could count on Caboose sticking around, and of course, Red Team.

 

Simmons was of course the biggest nerd in history. And Grif lazed his way through everything. Sarge was overbearing, but soft on the inside. Donut was of course Donut, the big hearted, most flamboyant man Tucker had ever met in his life. Hell, even Lopez was helpful and went back to help Tucker.

 

Red Team seemed to be his extended family who would continually take him in when his parents were drunk. His parents being Church and Tex, instead of drinking, they were getting killed or simply running off for the hell of it.

 

He let himself drift off into one negative thought about Church to the next, but kept himself steady and stable with the reassurance that Church was still around _now_. And Donut was alive. The Red team was alive, and hopefully, they would forgive him. He would just have to find the time to talk to them.

 

Donut hummed while he worked, making absolute sure that Tucker looked presentable. “You know Tucker, I’d definitely let you put this haircut between my legs,” Donut flirted.

  
Tucker burst into laughter, remembering how nice it was to be able to flirt comfortable and jokingly with others. He hadn’t realized just how cramped he felt with Wash imposing in on his style. “Donut, feel free to invite yourself my room.”

 

Donut snorted, cuffing his head lightly, placing the razor down. “When you’re single.”

 

Tucker’s eyebrows drew together. “I am single.”

 

“Right,” Donut agreed, but that patronizing tone he was so good at came through. It was the same tone he used when someone complained to him about something that couldn’t compare to his continuous near death experience. His, ‘that’s sucks.’ “I wanna wax your eyebrows. I have this new cream that stops the swelling, and I need to test my new wax pot.”

 

Tucker sighed, “Seriously?” Donut’s blank, but too happy stare said everything. “Seriously. Okay, what’re you gonna do then, put some highlighter on me?”

 

Donut’s shimmering white teeth broke through an excited smile. “If you’re offering! God, you are gonna be the man on base! The untouchable man!”

 

Tucker almost commented on that one too.

 

Perhaps he was just coming to understand that Wash wasn’t giving him much of a choice. And honestly, that started to be less terrible. 


	7. 7.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker talks with a few of the Reds about his problems, argues with Wash, and ends up having to visit the infirmary with Carolina. An eventful day, if he'd say so himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiya! this chapter is about 7,300 words (ish) sorry it took so long to post, editing sucks and my beta gets busy! not to mention i have my own classes, work, and social life to try (and fail) to balance. god, when was the last time i slept more than six hours?  
> anyway, i hope you enjoy this one!

The seventh time it happened, it was from a young boy who should hardly be involved in Tucker’s private life at all. It took place not long after a brief argument Tucker would engage in—and Palomo would be forced to witness the after effects. The young man, like everyone else, felt inclined to tell Tucker things he already seemed to know.

It started, of course, by Tucker making it to the mess hall around 9. ,Or as Wash so maturely called it, 0900. He’d contacted Tucker more than once confirming his arrival, making sure he was on his way—that he wasn’t going to ditch, or that he wasn’t going to be attacked by God knows what Wash came up with in his imagination.

Donut had released him with a peppy attitude and a smack on the ass. It reminded Tucker of high school, when he would do something right in a sports game. He hoped he would get to witness Junior go through the sport experience. That’s why he had to live through this war. He had a son, dammit!

He wandered into the mess hall, falling into line behind a bunch of other soldiers who had probably just got done with drills that had been implanted by Wash. Wash made sure he gave them some reasonable exercises to start the morning off right—and exhausted. Wash didn’t know the difference between the two, and Tucker would let anyone quote him on that.

“Agh, Agent Washington upped sprints again,” a small boy complained, a few people in front of him. “It’s probably because we’re from the Republic.”

Another voice chimed in, “Bet the Feds don’t have to deal with this.”

Tucker sighed, knowing the same words had left his lips quite a few times. That seemed to be the theme around these parts. Everyone wanted to believe the other side had it better, but the reality was they were all collectively exhausted and had little motivating them other than a stupid rivalry.

He passed through the line, seeing Sarge on serving duty. “Hey, Colonel, what’s up?”

Sarge stared, saying nothing. A long moment passed. “Son, you and I oughta talk later.” He plopped something onto Tucker’s tray. “Anywho! Visit Emi—Er, Dr. Grey, when ya’ got time.”

Tucker didn’t know what to make of that, but he did know that a growing line was accumulating behind him, and the wrath of teenagers seemed to keep growing through the years. Thank God his son was still a child. He couldn’t deal with the pranking of a mischievous alien son—who was also extremely deadly—on top of everything right now.

He sped off, giving Sarge a final wave. He absently scanned for Wash, but when he didn’t find him, he resigned himself to sit at a nearly empty table. Maybe Wash got pulled away to have a meeting or something, Tucker didn’t know.

Of course, Tucker never got that lucky. While he tried to settle onto the broken wooden bench, making sure not to drop any of his stuff on the ground, he heard a tray slam beside him. “Oh, hey there Wash,” he addressed, not bothering to look up.

“Yeah, hey yourself, thanks for sitting by me—oh wait,” Wash snapped.

Tucker didn’t bother to look at him. “Couldn’t find you.”

Wash’s strong fingers latched onto his jaw, turning him sharply. “Tucker, your... your hair, and—”

“Look great,” Tucker interrupted. “I know, countless ladies and gentleman love it.” Tucker himself wasn’t entirely sure. It was incredibly short on the sides, carefully layered on the top, thick tufts of hair keeping his traditional rugged look.

Wash swallowed. “Well, it is much closer to regulation,” came the ever existent wit from Agent Regulation.

Tucker ran his hands through Wash’s hair, pulling slightly, “As if you have much room to talk.” Wash made a soft sound of surprise, ducking his head to give Tucker more access. Which was still fucking weird. “Uh, anyway, Sarge suggested we talk to Dr. Grey.”

Wash blinked out the dazed look, now just seeming disappointed. Tucker kept eating, not interested in deciphering the blatant looks of desire and want for intimacy that Wash was giving him. The blonde slid his fingers right next to Tucker’s on the bench, eating with his left hand. Wash slipped his fingers into Tucker’s.

Tucker thought about how those fingers had been the one pushing Wash over the edge just last night. Stretching him open, pounding his prostate—the fingers that were the cause of his sweaty face, breathless gasps, wanton moans. He tried not to think about how he cried out Tucker’s name, nearing his climax. He was holding those fingers.

“Wash, don’t you have to eat with that hand?” he inquired awkwardly, trying to get Wash to stop holding his hand.

Wash quirked his head, “Tucker, I’m ambidextrous.” Right, of course he was. Tucker even knew that! He knew it from Wash’s demonstration of skill with knives. He was quite brilliant with knives. Using either hand for an effective throw or particularly violent swing. How he nailed his aim, predicting the movements of the enemy, how he moved perfectly in time with the set amount of rotations—yeah, Tucker would not forget how talented Wash was for a long time.

“Uh, Tucker, you’ve been staring.” Wash’s face was heated, but he looked pleased.

“Right, well, yeah—” Tucker coughed. “Anyway, I was thinking. Since I slept with you, and, you’re an extension of Church, doesn’t that mean I slept with Church? He’ll never let that go.”

Wash’s previously happy demeanor quickly diminished, his voice hardening into the voice Tucker had often associated with when Wash was against them. “Do not compare me to Church. What he did was despicable. He couldn’t get Tex right, so he tortured her.” He narrowed his eyes. “It’s because he didn’t remember her right.”

Tucker frowned. “Well, yeah.” The air grew tense, and uncomfortable. He brought his mashed rations up to his mouth, inhaling the stale scent. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be easier to do much better.” Tucker truly had no reason to defend The Director, or for that matter, Church. Perhaps he was just arguing with Wash to argue.

“I could,” Wash said, determinedly. “I’d remember all of the things about you. Not that you failed me, not that you failed to come home. I’m not like Church, I wouldn’t leave you.” He seemed so set in his answer, so devoted to Tucker understanding him.

Tucker couldn’t find an argument for that, too stunned to say much of anything. Wash gave him a tender look, gripping Tucker’s fingers tightly. “Okay. Great, then.” Silence. “Wash, Grif and Simmons aren’t talking to me.”

Wash shrugged. “What’d you do to piss them off?” came his usual ‘no nonsense’ drawl.

Tucker fixed him with an accusatory glare. “I didn’t do anything, Wash! But someone, out of the two us, did!”

Wash kept a composed facade, eyes looking nearly bored. “That’s a pretty faulting sentence, Tucker.” Tucker rose his eyebrows, waiting for Wash to continue. “Are you sure you didn’t do anything? After all, you do have a habit of ignoring other people’s wants.” Wash sent back a disapproving stare.

Tucker sputtered indignantly, crossing his arms in offense. Wash’s hand still followed Tucker’s, seemingly scrabbling for contact.“Great, fan-fucking-tastic, Wash. Glad to spend time with you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to fuck off somewhere else. Bitch.” He shoved himself up from the table, ripping his hands out of Wash’s. He snatched his tray off the table, hoping to find Grif around the mess hall somewhere.

Wash’s face fell, and he looked genuinely apologetic. Tucker was so fed up with Wash’s constant back and forth. One minute he was content with the way things were, and the next he was targeting Tucker for his affections. At this point, he just wanted Wash to pick one because he could not keep up!

Tucker stormed off, rounding tables and avoiding eye contact from the now quietly chatting recruits. Seeing a pissed off Captain and Drill Sergeant probably didn’t bode well in their guts. Tucker absently worried about how his reaction would affect the troops—and if this had been what Doyle was referring to.

He stopped next to familiar orange armor. “Grif, can I talk to you?”

Grif sighed, “Dude, this is just gonna be you talking and me bitching.” He turned square to Tucker, larger in frame. If anyone were to look on from Grif’s angle, Tucker would be nearly lost behind him, his only advantage being height. “But fine, whatever, sure. It’s not like I’m going to get up and leave.”

Tucker nodded, knowing that was as close to consent as he was going to get with Grif. The thought sounded gross in his head, so he dismissed it. He settled next to Grif, eyes glancing around the mess hall. He had a much better view of it from here. Grif always ate in the corner, back turned to the wall. Grif would never in his life admit it, but he was a seasoned veteran—using the loosest terms available. He had been attacked from behind before.

“Tucker, are you going to talk, or are you just going to sit next to me? Awkwardly, might I add.”

Tucker snorted. “Shut up, Grif.” He shoved his shoulder lightly, and Grif shoved back just as hard. “Okay, look. Wash is being a total dick.”

“I know.”

Tucker sighed, “And, I seem to be in the middle of it.”

Grif groaned, “Trust me dude, I know.”

Tucker didn’t know what to make of that, so he soldiered on. “So, I needed to apologize. I’m trying to make things work? I had no idea Wash was making Red Team do all of this shit, while Blue Team bummed around—”

Grif crossed his arms. “It’s not Blue Team, though. It’s just you, man.”

Tucker choked on the breath he sucked in. “Well, no, but—”

“No, seriously Tucker. It’s just you. Wash is always going out and doing stuff. Hell, Caboose was on that mission. It’s just you. I don’t know if he doesn’t want you to get hurt or if he’s afraid of other people seeing you on the battlefield—but it’s just you. It’s fucking weird, and I am so over the bullshit,” Grif lamented, stuffing his mouth with more rations. He always went up for seconds with someone else’s lunch card. Usually Private Matthews.

“Okay. Well, that’s... a thing,” Tucker settled for. “Do you think I should talk to him?”

Grif shrugged. “Dude, it doesn’t matter what you do. It’s how it affects us. We’re so goddamn tired.” He broke off into a yawn, whether intentional or not. “I don’t have time for Blue Team problems in my life. I just want to nap.”

“Grif, you want to nap regardless.” Grif waved him off, smirking. “So, I need to what? Give him head, and maybe he’ll fuck off?” Tucker asked.

Pretending to gag, Grif shook his head. “Never repeat that sentence to me. And, yeah sure, but Wash seems more like the: talk to me sweetly, no one gave me the affection I needed growing up.” Tucker knew that to be true. Words in bed seemed to be Wash’s thing.

“I’m not going to say anything to say that.”

“Dude, no.”

“What?”

“Dude, gross! No, ew, we’re never talking about this again. Go fuck Wash, and apologize.” Grif complained, shooing him away, spoon in hand. It was successful, because Tucker was up and out of there. He’d be afraid that Grif’s food would land in his face—but he knew better than that. Grif wouldn’t waste food. He loved it far too much.

So he decided to set out for Wash. That seemed to be the right thing to do. It seemed everyone on base had more investment in Tucker’s sex life than Tucker himself. Though, if he was being honest, go figure. They had better incentive.

Still in his half power armor, he strutted confidently through the city, winking at the ladies who fawned over his new hair and directing finger guns to the men who complimented his stylish look. His trek back to the apartment building was filled with bustling activity and surprisingly decent weather. For once, it wasn’t either storming or horrifically hot. He hated both, since his kevlar suit would cling too tight in all the wrong places.

He wondered if this would be his normal soon. Wondered if could he accept Wash’s interest in him. Did he want it? And, if he did, why would he continue to deny it? Simply because Wash was Wash wasn’t really an answer.

He knew the blonde. He trusted him. He would admit to anyone that Wash was extremely attractive. But something in his brain couldn’t click into place with it yet. Was it the fear of being tied down? The worry that Wash would leave just like everyone else? Or was it intense misunderstanding of Wash’s possessive tendencies?

Tucker was so lost in his dreary thoughts, he didn’t realize when he almost plowed over Lieutenant Palomo. The same young man who seemed to be jogging awkwardly, looking sad and confused. Not the traditional Palomo look—and it almost made Tucker angry. Who the fuck hurt Palomo? That was his job!

“Uh kid? What the fuck are you doing?”

Palomo gasped. “Captain Tucker, sir! There you are. I was looking for you! It’s Wash, he went into the training room and I don’t think he should be in there because he’s really upset, you’re not gonna like it, he’s—”

“Palomo.” He placed a placating hand on Palomo’s shoulder, trying to steady his shaking figure. “Let’s try this again. Wash is in the...”

“Eastern training facility.”

Tucker nodded. “And he is...”

“Really upset, and punching things, and cursing a lot. A lot of repressed anger,” Palomo answered quickly.

Tucker took this information into consideration, before finally asking, “And you came to me, because? I suddenly have infinite knowledge on how to calm down Wash?”

Palomo’s face burnt red. He looked like someone had dipped him in paint. “Because... you’re his... you know.”

Tucker blinked. “No, I don’t know. Please continue, Palomo.”

Palomo’s face grew even more hot, blood rushing to it like a dam had broke. “You’re the only one he listens to, so, I don’t know! You’re supposed to be the parent!”

Tucker shrugged violently. “I’ve never been an actual parent! My son is an alien!”

“How do I keep forgetting that?”

“Go away, Palomo!” Tucker demanded, voicing rising in pitch akin to the way Wash’s did when Caboose did something stupid. Palomo hastily did as he was told. Both of them equally as mortified at the conversation.

Great, now Tucker at least knew where to find Wash. However, he had been going west, and Wash was apparently dicking around in the east facility. Probably making a bunch of recruits regret coming to the training room. Tucker glanced at the time. Wash didn’t have to train until 1100, which was surprisingly convenient for Tucker for once.

He set off in the opposite direction, picking up into a jog. Again, he wouldn’t admit it to Wash out loud—Lord knows that man would be ecstatic to hear it—but the training truly did pay off. Tucker could go a pretty long while without getting winded. Besides, it was impressive, and if Tucker valued anything, it was the ability to impress. Especially with stamina. If you catch his drift.

He wondered if Carolina had tried to contact him about the potential mission they’d be leading, and he ignored the drop in his stomach when he realized there was no way he could’ve seen it without having his helmet. He considered running back to his room to pick it up, but then remembered, unfortunately, Wash seemed to be top priority nowadays.

Wash deserved to get some attention, though, even if it was at Tucker’s exhausted expense. And Tucker was nothing if not a man to flatter, but he really truly didn’t appreciate the lengths to which Wash went to ensure his position in Tucker’s life. After all, there’s no need to do that when Tucker had already put Wash there in the first place.

Tucker drew to a brisk walk, halting just outside the training room. He forgot to think about what to say to Wash when he arrived. He certainly wasn’t going to apologize: Wash had been an asshole. But he needed Wash to know that he still...cared, or whatever.

Whatever, Tucker didn’t need a plan. He never had plans in the past. He would just wing it. Wash seemed to be struck by whatever Tucker would say anyway. It’s not as though it mattered. Just Tucker showing up should be enough to prove he cared.

He pushed through a set of old metallic doors, eyes set on finding the upset blonde. If Palomo’s words were anything to go by, he was probably by the punching bags, making hell of his wrists. Knowing him, he probably threw himself into action without bandagings his hands. Fucking idiot, goddamn, Tucker thought moodily.

On his steadfast adventure, brushing past recruits that seemed to be gathered in a thick circle, he located Wash, standing in the middle of a fight against Carolina. This of course threw warning signal after warning signal Tucker’s way.

Carolina would be too competitive to say no. Wash would be too high strung and pissed off to keep his mouth shut. What did that mean? Recipe for disaster. The two strongest people Tucker knew locked in battle. No, no, no.

“What the fuck is going on here!?” Tucker hollered, managing to make his way to the front of the crowd.

Epsilon was sitting dejectedly on the floor. “Oh, hey there Tucker, you come to make things worse?” Church bit out, staring hard at Carolina who glided across the floor with practiced ease. “Since, you know, it seems to be what you’re best at.”

Tucker stiffened. “Uh, what? What pissed on your circuits?”

Epsilon gestured to the mess in front of them. Wash and Carolina bounded back from each other, beginning the circling process. Carolina’s fists set in an offensive position. That somehow didn’t surprise Tucker. He saw Wash assume a defensive stance, keeping balance in his legs.

“What my problem is, Tucker, is that your stupid boyfriend can’t seem to keep his shit together! It always ends up being my problem!”

Tucker laughed coldly. “Are you fucking serious, Church? We ran halfway around the galaxy because you can’t keep your dick in your pants for Tex! You screwed us over constantly for her! And you’re going to lecture me?”

Church flickered, white overtaking him. Tucker wasn’t sure what that meant, but it was oddly reminiscent of Omega. Did Church have the capability to do that?

Tucker would never find out. Carolina held her head, stumbling, cursing at Church in her usual frustrated tone. Wash didn’t stop the swing that came down on her, though, and his knee collided with her back. This sent her flat into the ground, where she lay relatively still. Her groan echoed in the silence of the room.

Tucker stepped into the ring, stumbling to pull Wash out of the trouble. “Carolina, Wash, what are you doing? Was this another one of your great plans to get me bitched out? Because it’s been fucking working!”

Wash sent him a stoney look. “No, Captain Tucker. I was just blowing off steam. See, some people handle theirs through means like sex. I believe we both know someone with a similar coping method.”

Tucker glared. “Yeah, well, don’t hate the player just because you can’t get laid.”

Wash gawked. “Funny, last night you weren’t—”

“Shut the fuck up, Wash,” Tucker snapped. “Go sit down on the bench, now. That’s an order.” Wash’s eyes blinked slowly, a fuzzy layer coating his movements when Tucker forcibly removed him from the rink. “Recruits, disperse. Jesus Christ, I have to do everything around here.”

Tucker huffed, giving Wash a light shove into a seated position. Wash didn’t take it, though. He just crumpled to his knees, face level with Tucker’s codpiece. Submissive eyes gazing up at Tucker trustingly. Now was really not the time.

“I need to check on Carolina—” Tucker glanced to Carolina's exhausted form, wondering just what to do for a moment before Wash whimpered in interruption. “I promise I’ll be right back.” Quietly, he added, “I’ve gotcha’ baby.” The familiar pet name he used for every partner fell off his tongue in his attempt at reassurance.

Wash seemed to like it, because his hands went up to hook on the bottom of his power armor. He silently hit Wash’s hands down, a reprimand and warning. Without a look back, because he couldn’t contain himself if he did, he headed over towards Carolina.

“Great fucking job, Tucker!” Church was shouting, unsurprisingly.

Tucker sighed, ignoring him. “Hey, you all good, Carolina? You and Wash really shouldn’t be sparring.”

She made a soft noise in anger. “If someone hadn’t been thinking about Allison—”

“That’s not my fucking fault! Tucker brought it up!”

“Really!” Tucker exclaimed. He exhaled sharply. “Carolina, we should get you to Dr. Grey.” He fought the urge to fight with Church. It seemed to be the only way he could get the AI’s attention. And didn’t that fucking hurt? Because Tucker had once done everything for Church. Had gone out of his way to help him, to save him, to find him, to forgive him. Over, and over, and over. And at the end of it all, Church neglected him every time.

It wasn’t like Church was some ridiculously charismatic individual that Tucker felt drawn to respect his leadership—not at all. It was something much more simple. It was that Church was his best friend, and he cared for Church, trusted Church, just wanted Church to realize that he missed him when he left.

He resented that Church didn’t seem to care nearly as much as Tucker. That he would probably never care as much. Because it hurt.

Tucker knew he would have to be the bigger man. Again. Like he was back at Valhalla. Or the desert. Or even Blood Gulch. “Look, Church, I’m sorry.”

Church fizzled in discontentment. “Well you fucking should be! Now Carolina is hurt!”

“Church, shut up!” Carolina snapped. “That wasn’t his fault.”

Tucker sighed sadly. “Church, I’m sorry,” he stressed, “I’m sorry for a lot. Can we just stop fucking fighting?”

The group of recruits who’d split at Tucker’s command began to gather again. Tucker had nearly forgotten he was in the middle of the training floor, sparring grounds. If anything, now would be the perfect time to prove to Church that he didn’t care who heard. He just wanted his best friend back.

“I know you’re sorry,” Church replied, not as loud. Probably receiving shouts from Carolina in his head. Tucker closed his eyes, breathing softly. He opened them quickly, shooting a look at Wash behind him. The blonde was listening to Tucker’s every word like gospel, and it was horrifying to Tucker. “I know.”

“Church, you’re my best friend, man. I’ve dropped everything for you. I’ve nearly been killed a million times over, and it’s all because I can’t bring myself to stop chasing after you. Caboose is great, Wash is fine, but you were my best friend. And you choose everyone over me. I’ve been pretty fucking bitter about it!” Tucker lamented, frustration that had been boiling inside of him finally spilling over. “So, I’m sorry. Okay?”

When Church said nothing, Tucker swallowed thickly. “I’m taking Carolina to the infirmary. So, if you don’t want to see me, you’re going to have to log off.” Church—because after all, he was programmed after the most stubborn person the world had seen—didn’t say anything to the apology. He seemed surprised, and then disappeared altogether.

“I’m sorry Carolina,” he muttered, slinging her arm around his shoulder. He rose from his uneasy crouch, bringing her with him.

She tried to pry out of it. “I don’t need help,” she stated. Tucker sent her a dull look, “I—I’ll be fine in a moment,” she assured, uneasily. At least her tone sounded more human, so Tucker didn’t press it too hard. Just kept pressed against her side.

He would admit even now that Carolina was a beautiful woman. Strong curves, powerful features, rippling muscles. But, being this close to her, he couldn’t even come up with a stupid witty joke. She was family to him. Nothing more, nothing less. Just someone he could trust.

“I don’t mean to be… jealous of you and Church,” Tucker said quietly. “I know you’re his everything.” How fondly Church spoke of her, how Church gravitated towards her, how Church would brighten up when he said ‘C’, or ‘Sis’. How Church loved her, because he finally had someone in his life who knew. He wasn’t jealous of Carolina, because he could never be Carolina, never was anything like Carolina. Never held Church’s same regard.

But Church was his best friend. And Church always left to be with Tex. Or Carolina. Or to find himself. Never to help Tucker. Not even when Tucker was at his lowest points. Church would have a lot of making up to do.

Despite that, Tucker still couldn’t imagine not having him. He would do anything for Church. Now, before, and years in the future. If he was retired and someone told him to set out and find Church—he would. He hated himself for it. Hated that Church didn’t always act the same. Felt emptiness in his chest when he remembered that Alpha was gone, and Lord knows how long Epsilon would be around.

Carolina sent him a sad, sympathetic look. “I wasn’t, once. My father. Church learned from that mistake.” Quieter now, she added, “I had a father, but I never had a dad. I had a man who was obsessed with keeping my mother. It was only natural that Epsilon had that programming, too. Obsessive tendencies run in the family.”

Tucker thought about how Epsilon’s programming had shaken the structures of Wash’s head. He wondered if Wash had always been so intensely possessive. “I know. I wasn’t his... either. Sometimes I just wish I could be something.”

Carolina winced guiltily. “Now, Church logged off. He was on before. He... was listening.”

Tucker bit off a snarky comment, trying to maintain his composure. He led Carolina through the front door, almost forgetting about Wash for a moment. Fixated on the idea that Church and Carolina were so similar and so different.

“I want you to know, Tucker, I share a headspace with him, okay? I know him.” She paused, giving Tucker a onceover, as if to approve whether or not he should hear what she had to say next. “Church has always cared about you guys. He told me he owed you everything. He would give his life for you, he just wishes he was better about letting you know that.”

“I believe you,” Tucker responded, and he did. He did because he knew Church at heart wasn’t like Felix. Knew that Church didn’t want to use him or hurt him. Everytime he did, it wasn’t on purpose, it was unintentional. “I just wish...” He didn’t bother to finish that sentence.

Carolina stumbled beside him, holding her hand to her head. Allowing herself to show a brief moment of weakness now that the scrutinizing gazes of children were no longer trained on her. He put a hand on her shoulder; to steady her or to comfort her, Tucker didn’t know.

The two of them continued back towards the infirmary, it wasn’t too far away. Their footsteps clacked on the broken sidewalk and crushed pieces of blacktop that once made up a road. He gazed up towards the empty sky. It was strange that here, sometimes the color could be the pale grey of a cloudy afternoon on earth.

The farther they walked, the more Tucker began to realize that this had once been a booming city. Children used to run through these streets, waving chubby hands around, encouraging their parents or siblings to race them. Palomo would have had something like this, had it not have been for the war.

Ah, Palomo. The boy who believed he could have a family out of him and Wash—could Tucker do that? Could he provide that? After all, Wash was someone he cared for. More than cared for, if Tucker was being honest.

He’d known how much Wash meant to him for a long time. It had rang true when they were seperated on this horrible planet at first. He knew when he was betrayed by Felix that it was something Wash easily could have done considering his background, and yet Wash never did. Wash tried not to abandon him and Caboose. He cared as much as Church, if not more. And that was terrifying to Tucker.

“Tucker,” Carolina started, sounding like she was containing a small smile in her throat. “Have you heard that Sarge and Dr. Grey have been spending time together?”

Tucker pretended to gag. “Oh-ho, gross! Old people sex is not on the brain, Carolina.”

She snorted. “Tucker, you’re getting old. How does that make you feel?”

It had been what, seven years since his time in Blood Gulch? Just the thought of that alarmed him. He was getting old. Fuck, he had a son who was getting old! Caboose was old, Wash was older than that. How old was Wash now? Did Wash even know? His memories were so out of whack.

“Uh, Tucker, I didn’t mean to actually bother you...” she trailed off, looking a bit concerned. “Are you like... okay in there?”

Tucker shook his head. “Yes, yeah, uh. I’m old. And fine, don’t worry. Just thinking...” He took on a teasing tone, “that means you’re getting old too.” She shoved him lightly, and they made their way companionably to the infirmary to see Dr. Grey.

*

“Oh, hello Captain Tucker, Agent Carolina!” Grey greeted, spinning around the room in a frenzy of tools and wearing a decent amount of blood. “It’s not a bad time, don’t worry. Come in, come in.” She ushered them through the door.

“Uh, that time of the month?” Tucker joked, getting smacked upside the head by Carolina who nailed him with a look that must run in the Church family. “Haha, just messing with you, yeah, that’s me.”

Carolina snorted. “Hello Emily.” Carolina was on a first name basis with Dr. Grey too? A horrible image of Sarge, Emily, and Carolina in a threeway surfaced in his mind. Sometimes, he wished he had less of an affinity towards sex. He shuddered, shaking the gross image away.

“So, Dr. Grey, Carolina here got her head hit. Just wanted to get it cleared with doctor stuff,” Tucker stated, but his eyes wandered past her, looking out for Caboose. The large man seemed to be passed out on his bed, IV’s hooked into his arms. Depressing, wrong, sickening—all of the emotions hit Tucker at once. “And... You mentioned Caboose needed something.”

“One thing at a time, sweetie. I can’t deal with too many ignorant Tucker hormones in the room.” She patted his arm condescendingly. Or maybe she meant it? It was hard to tell with her. She brushed past him, lightly handling Carolina. “How’d you sustain this injury?”

Carolina sighed, looking sheepish. “Sparring with Wash. We both got distracted and I stopped. He didn’t...”

Dr. Grey nodded, but it was less understanding and more skeptical. “Both you and Wash are powerful soldiers. It’s not like you to get distracted, Carolina. I would say the same for Wash, but.” She coughed, hinting. “Anytime he sees someone he stops prioritizing our military.” Her tone was clipped, but her melodious voice kept its song.

Carolina inhaled softly. “Tucker—” she said.

“No, I’m not having another talk about this today. First Caboose, then Palomo. You can bother me about it tomorrow,” Tucker bit out. Carolina sucked in a breath when Dr. Grey stuck an ice pack on her head abruptly.

“Carolina, follow my finger. Keep your head straight. Just gotta check for concussion.” Because Grey was so insanely smart, multitasking wasn’t actually something that bothered her even remotely. She was probably testing just how patient Tucker could be. “Tucker, you look anxious,” she observed.

“Wow, really?” Sarcasm dripped off of his tongue. Hesitantly, he attempted to amend his bitter tone. “Er, sorry. It’s just, Caboose said he needed medicine. And that you were all out of it. I really want to figure out what I can do to help.” Since I’m such a fuck-up all other times, he reflected sullenly.

A wave of exhaustion hit him then. It was hardly noon, and he was already saddled with responsibility after responsibility. Not to mention drowning in his own guilt. His mind drifted back to Wash, who he promised he’d spend time with. Then to Caboose, who had told him with steadfast certainty that things would be okay as long as Tucker was good to Wash.

Dr. Grey sent him a pitying look. “Tucker, the salve Caboose needs is for one of his wounds. Alien technology has an affect on the human body, and Caboose was exposed to the radiation. But, Caboose graciously allowed everyone else to have first grabs at the salve.” That’s why everyone loved Caboose. He was an idiot, but he was selfless, and loving. He cared about this cause more than Tucker, and he would die proving it—Unless Tucker found out how to get more of this salve. “Okay. So, we need more.”

Grey smiled, grin fake and forced. “Yes, very good, Tucker. Way to put that pretty little head of yours to work.”

“I resent that,” Tucker responded. “It’s more than about looks, Dr. Grey. It’s the personality, too.” He gestured to his heart dramatically.

Grey pulled up her datapad, scrolling through apps and opening one of which had a map laid out of Chorus. She projected the image, fingers gesturing to an area that seemed far enough away from Armonia to be noteworthy. But not quite so large.

“We’ll have to go here. This has a bunch more medical supplies, and most specifically, the salve you’re looking for. That’s because it was built really close to this temple,” she explained easily. “See, alien relics are dangerous technology, which is why when shot with one of the alien’s Needlers or Plasma pistols, the survival rate is rather low, but the rate decreases with the intensity of a gun. It’s likely that since they’re deactivated, the explosion of the cache itself was just meant to trigger the negative effects of the bullets.”

Tucker rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, how did Master Chief survive then?”

“Tucker, ONI training and gear is nearly impeccable. They make Project Freelancer look like babies,” Dr. Grey answered, and Tucker had to wonder just how the hell she knew all this information.

Carolina made a noise of protest. “That’s offensive.”

Grey shrugged. “It was meant to be. Spartans were just more successful than Freelancers.”

“Spartan 2’s, you mean.” Grey nailed Tucker with a sharp look, but kept her shallow smile. “Right. Well, in Freelancer’s defense, they went through... more legal means. And at a reasonable age.” He thought about his son. Imagining what it would be like if he was taken from him and forced to fight. “What does this have to do with the Covenant anyway?”

“Well not particularly the Covenant. This was a group that must have avoided the Great War. No, this is the simple fact that alien technology is ever existent, Tucker. You’re proof of that.”

Grey’s eyes drifted downward, “Hey baby, you checkin’ me out? That’s cool,” Tucker joked and laughed nervously when she stared unimpressed, smile nearly gone. “Right, ahem.”

“The stuff on Chorus is technology that has been dormant for thousands of years. The Covenant never bothered with this planet, like I said.” She used her arms to create a circle of the planet. “But there are countless locations full of the stuff, and its contents are still existent. That’s why Caboose got hurt.”

“Because the gas that leaked was, what, toxic?”

Grey nodded. “To equivalate it to something you would understand, yes.” Tucker took a moment to understand her words and—ah, she was making fun of him again. At least she was consistent. “Blue Team,” she muttered, and, oh god, Sarge was rubbing off on her. In more ways than one—Tucker, stop that train of thought please.

“So you need me to head out there. Soon,” Tucker confirmed.

Grey yawned, “Absolutely. You need to clear it with our Generals, though. I don’t have that sort of clearance.” How she managed to maintain such a composed, sing-song voice, no matter the circumstance, Tucker would never know. Was it natural? What was Grey actually like?

He wondered if the war traumatized her to this state, and found that he would honestly believe it. Despite it all, she still managed to be the most intelligent person he’d ever seen. She put Church to shame, and Church was a fucking computer.

“I need to clear it with...” He caught Carolina’s eye. “Wash,” he finished.

Carolina shook her head in understanding. “Radio him.”

And wasn’t that the opposite of what Tucker wanted to do? But maybe, just maybe, he would get the brief moment of the real Wash again. He had seen it a few times, occasionally. That blinking clarity, as if a fog was passing him through, and he needed to walk through it before he was himself again.

Even with the way Wash had been acting the past few weeks, it hurt Tucker to be so distanced from his friend. He knew Wash, trusted Wash, could put his faith in the other man—at least the man he knew. Resignedly, Tucker figured he would benefit from actually talking to Wash, and he would need to do it soon. Though, as it stood, Blue Team was best known for being stubborn in their own right; always pursuing what they thought best. And if he wanted to stop feeling bad about this, to stop desperately missing his friend, he would need to talk to him.

What better time to start, than now. “Okay.” He psyched himself up. “Alright, sweet, I got this. Easy peasy.” He reached for the radio that was hooked to the bottom half of his armor. A standard feature in case the user lost their helmet or it suffered a malfunction. At least, it was common in the suits provided to products of Project Freelancer.

He tapped it on, brought his lips to the microphone, all while securing the ear piece. After a moment of deliberation, he made the call to Wash’s radio. “Hey, Agent Washington, it’s Captain Tucker. Can you hear me?” He maintained a professional voice, in case a recruit was the one to answer.

“Captain Tucker? You rarely radio me.” Came the response from Wash. Both of them paused, soaking in the silence. “What can I do for you?” he asked in a heavy voice.

Tucker replied almost immediately. “It’s nothing for you to do. Just for you to hear. It’s good news.”

He could practically hear Wash’s smile. “For once.” Wash managed a soft chuckle through his delighted voice. “We deserve good news every once and awhile.” And damn, if Tucker couldn’t agree more with that.

“Tell me about it.” Tucker voiced his thoughts. “Now, do you wanna know the news or not?”

Wash snorted. “I’m sure you’ll tell me anyway.”

Tucker sputtered indignantly. Wash knew him too well, Tucker always told Wash things whether or not the other man wanted to hear them. “Actually, as a Captain—a higher rank than Agent, if you recall—I don’t have to tell you anything,” he said complacently.

His smugness was short lived. Dr. Grey decided to chip in. “Wash probably hasn’t told you, but he’s being promoted! Him and Carolina. The generals talked about it last week. They’ll be a higher rank than you!”

Tucker gaped, a fish out of water. A con-man out of his element, “What? That’s bullshit, fuck the system.”

Wash’s rumbling laugh came through the earpiece, and god that was a nice sound. Lately, all he had from Wash was his pleading, his hard soldier voice, or his fear. He hadn’t heard Wash sound peaceful or entertained in what felt like ages.

“I think it would be easier to demote you,” Wash said, unhelpfully.

Tucker rolled his eyes. “I say the cadets vote. Me or Wash—who has rank superiority? Make a choice, choose me! Please and thank you.”

“Great campaign slogan. And, Tucker, they would obviously choose me. Considering my experience, and overall skill level...” He laughed again. Cheekily, he added, “Don’t be offended, Tucker. At least I’ll listen to your complaints.” Tucker could practically feel Wash pat him on the shoulder with that fake sympathy he was so fond of using on him. It worked, always, because both of them would break off into small bouts of laughter.

“Yeah, and then promptly ignore them. I’m onto you, Wash.” He realized in his excitement to finally have the Wash he knew so well back, he had forgotten the reason he contacted him in the first place. “Hey, hang on, you’re distracting me. I haven’t even told you the good news.”

He heard static, and then a dreamy sounding sigh. “Honestly, this conversation has been the highlight of news, lately.” Tucker would never agree to it, but he felt the same.

Instead, he coughed, masking his conflicting emotions--mainly embarrassment and concern. “Nice, Wash,” he dismissed. “Anyway, within the week I’m going on a mission to get the salve to heal Caboose.”

He imagined Wash perking up at that. He always had a soft spot for Caboose. One of which Tucker found himself continuing to develop. “Really?” His words sounded incredibly hopeful, this seemed to be going as good as Tucker could have hoped for. “Great, that’s excellent Tucker.”

But the more Tucker thought about it, the more this didn’t make sense. Wash wouldn’t just let Tucker go. Not without some sort of promise, some price. Or, more realistically, just not leaving altogether. No, something was wrong. “Really?” he parroted. When Wash was silent, and the static of the radio held steady, Tucker kept going. “All good...with me going on a mission. And this is all good with you?”

He heard Wash huff. “Tucker, I know what you’re alluding to. And I admit that I’ve been a bit clingy lately, but—”

“Understatement of the century, dude,” Tucker interrupted. Feeling satisfactory at the small but digging comment.

Wash waited. The way Wash did so reminded him of a teacher back in high school. When the students would all be chatting noisily, and the teacher would sit on the desk disappointedly and stare with an intensity that revealed their desire for the kids to do one thing. It was a simple two words Wash was very good at saying: shut up.

“But,” Wash stressed again. “I’ve found a way to overcome that. With my oncoming rank, I am perfectly capable of adding mission team lists to the things I manage.”

Tucker didn’t know what that information had to do with anything, but he just didn’t care. This sounded like approval. Like progress. Like things were going to be getting better for the two of them. Wash could share all the useless information he needed, as long as he kept this up. “So... it’s really okay?”

Wash’s voice came over the radio again, sounding warm and caring. “Of course it is.”

Tucker was flooded with relief. He pumped his fist with enthusiasm, heart pounding in his chest. Wash was allowing him to go and wasn’t causing a fuss, he was acting like the man that Tucker knew. The man Tucker had grown to love. Was this the beginning of change? Tucker wondered.

“After all, I will be coming with you.”

And within seconds his elation crashed to a halt.


	8. 8.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker gains a better insight on what's going on, struggles with a fear of his, and thinks maybe, just maybe, he could figure things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry i didn't upload for a while! my life went off the deep end. between family, my sick mother, and my entire life changing around me, i completely forgot to post. so, to make up for it, the next chapter should be coming out fairly soon. also, i got to see a lot of people over the winter break, so that threw me into a frenzy of constantly wanting to see people.
> 
> sorry, i shouldn't make excuses! anyway, thanks to my beta PeculiarProjects, and now another friend who's been reading it over and helping out. 
> 
> cheers!  
> xx

The eighth time it happened, Tucker was already stunned to silence. His stomach wasn’t even flipping nor dropping—no, those words couldn’t describe the utter frustration and horror that he felt. He had had so much faith that Wash was improving, that Wash was trusting him to make his own decisions. Since last night, since Tucker did what he could to prove to Wash that he cared, despite how he couldn’t go further.

He wasn’t sure if he had much of a choice. He was going to have to remind to Wash who exactly was in charge of Tucker’s life. After he figured that out, he would need to demonstrate to Wash just how much he mattered, since, despite how frustrated Tucker grew from him, he would always think the world of Wash. The blonde man had thrown away everything to help them.

Of course, Tucker would realize soon that Wash felt the same about the Reds and Blues. Wash felt like he owed them his everything. Tucker knew that, but he couldn’t grasp it in the same context as the freelancer. Wash believed that to prove his thanks, he would have devote his every second to them (in the order of who had made such an impact)—while Tucker would rather just appreciate that someone helped him and not take it for granted. His mother said, while highly intoxicated after her eighth break up of the year, to be grateful and to not be hung up on it. That was, before she died, anyway.

No, it seemed Wash valued Tucker to an extent above all else that was deemed frightening. It made sense. Tucker took him into Blue Team, took care of Caboose with him, stayed up late with him. He learned how to wake Wash from his terrible nightmares, and punched Wash when he became Carolina’s bitch.

To properly describe Tucker’s emotion, one would have to bring his stomach to the top of a skyscraper and witness the plummet as it descended to the ground from the roof. He was so goddamn over all of this.

Carolina placed a hand on his shoulder, emotions matching his own swimming through her dazzling irises of lime. “Tucker, do you want to—”

“Carolina, I just need a minute with Dr. Grey,” he interrupted coldly.

Her stance hardened. She gave him a final once over before turning swiftly to leave. As she reached the door, she turned to address Tucker a final time. “You should talk to me tomorrow evening. I’ll be free then.” And within seconds, she was gone. Carolina didn’t need a speed enhancer for her to come and go as fast as she did.

Dr. Grey brought her hand up to his forehead—now beaded in rather unattractive sweating (which would devastate Donut and his contour job)—and then pulling back. “You’re cold and clammy, Tucker.”

“Sure thing, it’s how I get around women. Until I swoop in and—”

“Tucker, enough of the excuses please!” She sang, despite sounding the most forceful she had in a long time. “Clearly, there is something going on with Wash.”

Tucker shot her a dirty look. “Wow, did you figure that out with your 240 IQ?”

She patiently stared at him. He hated how much that reminded him of Wash during training. “Tucker, I’ve been a doctor for a long time. I’ve studied nearly everything imaginable. And for once, I can’t truly fathom your situation.” She smiled. “Why do you think that is?”

“Uh, the Reds and Blues will talk your ear off, but only about things that don’t matter?” he guessed, albeit accurately.

She nodded. “Especially Wash. The most stubborn Blue on the team.” Tucker was about to argue that Church was in fact, but at least Church had the decency to let go of Tex. If it had been Wash in that memory unit, chasing Tucker, Tucker wasn’t sure he’d get a break.

“Right. That’s him. What’s that got to do with... you know...” Tucker alluded.

She blinked once, then twice, and finally another time. “Are you referring to the intimacy he desires from you? Or the attention he wants from you? Or the fact that he threatened to kill me if I wasn’t able to help your stab wound?” She held up her hand to cut Tucker off. “Wash is my friend, but he doesn’t care as much about this war as he cares about you.”

Tucker gaped. “I—he, uh, what?”

“I want to help figure out what’s going on, Tucker. But his brain isn’t something I have access to. You are the only person who can solve this.” She grinned, suddenly to elated at the prospect. “God, I wish I could just got a brain scan and see what his AI did.”

Tucker frowned, not sure if she knew just how accurate she hit. “Well, that’s the thing. I think that Chur—the AI did damage his head. But I’d need to talk to Carolina about it.” Tomorrow, he told himself. He would visit her tomorrow and get all the answers he would need. Or at least, he hoped to. If anything Wash had said in the past about Freelancer was true, it was likely that Carolina probably lost track of Wash’s mental state near the end of the Project.

“You should get a video or audio clip of Wash. Video would be preferable, so then I’d be able to study how he interacts with you personally.” She tapped a helmet that was resting on a nearby table. “Recordings and such.” He wondered if he'd follow through with it. It seemed quite like the invasion of privacy, but Dr. Grey seemed certain it would help. Instead of dwelling on it too much, he figured it'd be smarter to bury it and worry about it later. 

“Grey, I know I’m not as smart as you, but I could figure that much out, dude.” The words were off his tongue easily. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. He stopped, realizing what he’d said. “I...will never call you ‘dude’ again.”

She shook her head in agreement. “Glad we both we feel the same way. Oh! And Tucker, if you see the Colonel, tell him to come by later.”

Tucker choked on his spit. “I’m leaving, Dr. Grey!” Gross, gross, images were surfacing. Think about something else Tucker, anything at all. People you’ve been with. His brain chanted, horrified at the images of Sarge and Emily naked.

Of course, his brain provided the image of Wash’s eyes gazing up at him, mouth wide open and stretched around his cock. Wash’s small quirk of head to lean into Tucker’s hands that massaged at his hair. The way he moaned around the mouthful, making Tucker’s length buzz in his mouth.

He wondered how tight Wash was, and if the slicked heat of hole would be anything like his mouth. If he would prefer to hear Wash moaning out his name than just humming low in his throat. The whines of pleasure that would spill from his lips—the ones that Tucker caused, proving Tucker could do something, could mean something, at least to Wash.

And, dammit, enough, enough. This wasn’t right. But it felt right—wasn’t that what mattered? Could he cast aside what he knew, what he could trust, to have this with Wash? Wash wanted him too. He wanted it badly, and Tucker hated to admit that deep inside he longed for it, too.

Tucker had set out of the infirmary a few minutes ago now, falling into the familiarity of the streets. The wind had picked up in its intensity, and Tucker wanted to sleep it all off. Fall into bed, sprawl out completely, and sink into the thin but soft covers. Ones that smelt old and ancient, despite how long he’d been here on Chorus.

Yet, he couldn’t do any of this. He would need to stop at the mess hall to grab a snack before he headed off to training with the Lieutenants, and then individual work. He was desperately trying to overcome his panic around knives and it would take him lots of work and exposure of using them. He considered talking to Wash about it, but everytime he felt like it was a good time to, Wash was frantically busy with the responsibilities he buried himself in.

  
Of course, he spent time with his energy sword too. He’d found a text written in Sangheili, demonstrating the footwork of humans attempting to understand how to use sword that many of the aliens used so confidently.

He headed out towards the mess hall again. It was nearing two, and Tucker felt like the opposite of productive. Regardless, he was drained and wanted nothing more than call in sick. If he did that, though, Wash would mother him like crazy and then he’d never be allowed to go on a mission, let alone leave Wash’s concerned care.

His heavy boots alarmed all of the cadets to his presence as he strutted from room to room—and yes, he would admit that he strut. Donut taught him how to maintain swagger for both the men and ladies: how could Tucker not use it?

Sarge was settling into a seat not too far from the entrance. Much like Grif, he kept his back facing the wall. Only Donut and Simmons didn’t. Since Simmons obviously sat on the other side of Grif when it was the two of them, and he always sat across from Sarge. The antsy red-head was too busy being paranoid about other things to be bothered over that. And Donut... well, Donut had blind faith in pretty much everything except his skill with makeup and his throwing arm.

Tucker hastened his pace to catch a place next to him. “Oh-ho, hey Sarge, I’m here to tell you I talked to Dr. Grey, and she said she wants you to visit her tonight.”

Sarge hummed in excitement. “Thank you, Blue. I’ll be sure to fill you in on the bohemian details, mhmm!” The words were so reminiscent of Donut, but spoken by the man who was the dictionary definition as opposite of twink—i.e. Donut.

“Yeah, all of that sounds great except for the part where it doesn’t. Please, for the love of god, do not tell me,” Tucker said forcefully.

Sarge barked out that familiar laugh. “You’re just jealous Wash doesn’t give you more action!” Tucker violently reflected on how the opposite of that was true. “Don’t worry, he was starin’ atcha’ pretty hungrily this morning! You Blues have no shame.”

“Oh god, Sarge, there is just no way I’m talking sex with you. It’s just so wrong. On so many levels.” Tucker complained. But he would admit he didn’t mind talking to Sarge altogether. He knew Wash didn’t always like how Sarge acted, and how careless he could be—but Tucker too was careless, so he felt the bond. Besides, him and Sarge made awesome one-liners on missions.

“Fine, your loss boy.” Tucker shook his head. “I’m glad you talked to Emmy though—”

“Please do not call her that—”

Sarge rolled his eyes. “Son, I’m sure you have all kinds of pet names for Wash.” Tucker blinked. He wasn’t really dating Wash, or fucking—yet—why was Sarge assuming this? Was Wash really that obvious about his affections? “He seems like the type of man in constant need of affirmation,” Sarge said confidently.

_You don’t know the half of it._ Tucker thought moodily. Distantly, it crossed his mind that Wash really must have been abandoned a lot.

Sarge continued, “You gotta get Wash on a tight leash.” Tucker nearly spit the water Sarge had slid across the table earlier. Tucker tried not to think about how Wash would secretly be way too interested in that shit. How he would probably ask Tucker to put a collar around his neck, wanting to make sure Tucker knew that it was Wash and Tucker, and no one else.

He’d probably pull against the leash, loving the way it would cut off his breath just a bit—and Tucker would thrive because he had control over all of this. He was the one who could let Wash go just enough so it would hurt. He’d probably urge Tucker to pull it while Tucker fucked him from behind, Wash’s body fruitlessly thrusting backward trying to keep up with the dominating pace Tucker would set in place. He shook his head. 

“Uh, I didn’t expect ya’ to think about that so hard, son.” Sarge cut his train of thought off rather abruptly. “But, uh, Wash is gonna be in charge of mission scheduling. Since, the charge against Alpha is coming up.”

Tucker knew this already. “Yeah,” he hissed out softly, trying not to sound breathless from his earlier train of thought. “Yeah, I knew that.”

“And look, I know I’m puttin’ too much trust in a dirty blue, but I’m asking ya’ one thing. Don’t keep lettin’ him put my stupid boys in danger all the time. If Grif is gonna die, it’s gonna be at my hand,” Sarge said, sounding genuinely concerned about his teammates. "Besides, don't tell them 'bout my little secret, but we're front lines for the ambush. Ain't that exciting?"

Tucker studied him for a moment. For as long as he’d known the Reds, it was quite clear that Sarge was the oldest. His hair was nearly white, his beard was growing long and scruffy. Wrinkles lined his skin, indented from worry and laughter alike. Nowadays, he just seemed to be permanently tired. They weren’t fighting a fake civil war anymore. No, this was real. Far too real. And Sarge watched kids be forced into the military life, so much like he had been himself.

“Yeah, Sarge." Grif probably wouldn't think it was exciting, but Tucker would keep it secret till then. "But uh, yeah dude, I can try,” he promised. “I gotta grab some food, so, I’ll see you at drills tomorrow?” Friday drills. The Captain’s and Sarge, all of them under the thumb of Wash who would assume his usual authoritative drilling voice and run them into the ground. Then he would list their cleaning duties and they’d be sent off.

Sarge nodded, and Tucker took that as his sign to go. He had 30 minutes of a mad dash to meet up with Lieutenants in fatigues and help them understand the basics of subduing an enemy. A trick or two that Wash had passed onto him.

Within seconds, he was out the door, hurrying to change so he would reach the western training hall in time.

* * *

  
Training with the lieutenants went as well as expected. Palomo started crying, Jensen threw up, Bitters maintained his sarcastic attitude, and Andersmith tried to round them all up. Tucker was so frustrated—with Bitters specifically—he made sure to demonstrate the moves the same way Wash did. With full force and no mercy.

In short, Tucker made sure to send them all off with a disapproving sigh before he buckled down and did knife work.

Which he wasn’t great with. He stared at the weapons holder, seeing all forms of training weapons that Tucker could use. He itched to just grab a gun or maybe a practice sword. Couldn’t he just shoot Felix?

But then, that wasn’t even remotely the point. Hesitantly, he inched towards the small blade—one that could barely slice his hand. Hesitant, hesitant, hesitant. He was too afraid to touch something that had injured him so severely. Dr. Grey continually assured him it was normal to feel that way, that it was just trauma that made him feel this way. He couldn’t help but think of Wash’s parallels.

It was stupid. This was ridiculous! He used to use knives to cook meals for Junior. He used to pretend to throw the ones that Tex left in Church’s room. Something Church was never able to bring himself to dispose of—for a moment, Tucker let himself remember those days with clarity. After Tex disappeared with the ship and Wyoming’s helmet, Church fell into the worst depression, always refusing to mention her. All of that before they were shipped off—Tucker to the desert to meet up with his son once again, Church to the abandoned outpost, Caboose to Rats Nest.

The point was, Tucker had known knives. And yet here he was, literally shaking in the face of one. Unable to put his fingers to work in grabbing it.

“Fuck, god, what the fuck is wrong with me?” he cursed, ignoring the frustrated tears that brimmed in the front of his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, still growing accustomed to the length. He glanced at the time: it was around 5:30 now. He had been wasting time trying to avoid his training.

He slumped in defeat, ready to leave. Just like the last two times he’d been in here, he always crumpled at the idea of touching a knife again. He never told anyone how much it bothered him, and therefore, had no support. No one around to push him to take the next step.

He tried to reason: I don’t need to touch knives anyway! But it still bothered him immensely. That was the only reason he kept coming back. He didn’t want Felix to be right anymore. Didn’t want Felix’s words to haunt him—didn’t want to think about how he had trusted Felix, or how he thought he was doing the right thing for once. Didn’t want to think about how Felix lied to him, pushed him.

For a small moment, he thought about how thankful he was for Wash. The man Felix pretended to be was reminiscent of the role Wash had played in his life. Consoling him, guiding him, arguing with him, trusting him. Everything Wash had done—except Wash didn’t betray him.

He heard footsteps behind him, light ones, it seemed. Either someone tiny or someone agile. “Tucker, are you alright?” Ah, it was both. Wash approached him carefully, his smaller frame settling in nicely beside Tucker. “You don’t seem to be...doing anything.”

“Wow, how’d you come to that one Wash? Was it the fact that I’ve been standing here in the face of my biggest fucking fear?” he snapped, not really regretting it. He was so frustrated with himself. With everything in the universe, actually.

Wash’s blue eyes softened in sympathy. “Tucker, you’re afraid of knives?”

“Uh, duh, no shit dude. Remember when I was stabbed with one? Cause I fucking do.” He gestured to the scar on his chest moodily. “Don’t you fear the things that happened to you happening again?”

Wash closed his eyes briefly, remembering the things that haunted him him. Tucker knew, because so often he did the same thing. “Of course I do, Tucker. This might surprise you, but I hardly have confidence in anything myself.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Tucker replied.

Wash rolled his eyes. “What gave it away?”

His lip curled inward, eyebrows raising lamely. “Can’t think of anything off hand.”

Wash smiled disarmingly, and Tucker realized Wash was trying to calm him down. He watched the blonde gradually stretch his arm out in hopes of grabbing a knife. This was an exercise of trust if Tucker had ever seen one. He would have to believe Wash wouldn’t hurt him.

And Wash wouldn’t. Wash would never hurt him. His breath caught in his throat as Wash grasped the knife in his hands, eyes never once leaving Tucker’s body. He pulled it off the rack just as slow—and god, Tucker was thankful to have Wash in his life. His heart pounded in his chest, but he didn’t feel unsafe.

“Tucker, would you put out your hand?” Wash questioned, sounding like himself. He turned the handle to Tucker, the blade toward himself.

Tucker’s shaking hand managed a hold on it, gripping tightly around it. His knuckles paled with the intensity of his grasp. Tucker held it just where Wash had placed it, and in a small step forward, the blade was pressed up against Wash’s stomach.

“I know you won’t stab me. I trust you. See, the knife can’t hurt anyone if there is no intent to harm.” The line was both cryptic and simple. And for a few moments, Tucker wondered just what Wash was talking about.

“I mean, sometimes I feel like I could stab you,” Tucker joked weakly, trying to ignore how badly he was sweating. His entire body was wracked with small spasms of fear.

Wash rose his eyebrows. “I’m being serious, Tucker.” He pushed Tucker’s hand up, so that the knife was level with Wash’s chest. He moved a centimeter closer, that way the tip was destined to leave a miniscule mark. “This doesn’t hurt me.”

It was too close to where Tucker himself had been stabbed. He shuddered in fear, dropping the knife with an audible clatter onto the ground. “I know, Wash, I—”

Wash bent down to pick it up, easily sliding it back into Tucker’s palm. This time, though, the knife was pointed at Tucker. Tucker would tell you his heart stopped. He knew this was true, as panic burned in his chest, and he brokenly pushed the knife back to Wash, stumbling away weakly to rest himself on the floor.

Wash placed it back where it had been before with other knives of varying sizes, sinking to his knees to be eye level with Tucker. “How long?” Wash asked quietly.

Tucker caught his breathly steadily, trying to quell his nerves. “What?”

“How. Long?” Wash questioned again.

Tucker stared at the knife. “Five weeks and four days since surgery,” Tucker recited.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Wash stared at him with imploring eyes.

Tucker scowled. “This isn’t about you, Wash.” Guiltily, he added, “I thought I could get through this alone.”

“Tucker,” Wash began, his tone both hard and understanding, “I’m not Church. I will not let you go through these things alone—”

Tucker felt a dry sob in his throat. “Don’t talk about Church,” he snapped, trying not to think about this morning. Trying not to think about what Carolina said—Church had been listening. Church did care, Wash had to understand that. “He didn’t...” But he did. Church may have cared, but Church always left him.

“Okay,” Wash soothed. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”

“That’s not worth a lot to me,” Tucker spoke sarcastically. He saw Wash flinch, and he hated the way his gut panged in apology. “Thank you for trying to help with knives. I get the feeling that I’ll never be any good with them. Never was one for them in the first place anyway.”

Wash nodded, standing again. “Tucker, can you just... watch me?” The paint brush stroke of freckles was suddenly hidden under the blush that reached Wash’s ears. “I want to show you what knives can do.”

Tucker ignored the way he tensed up. “Yeah, Wash.”

Wash’s smile lit up his whole face. “Connie taught me them. I adore them, they’re so beautiful if used right. I really want to teach you all about them at some point, okay?” Wash babbled excitedly, and Tucker decided that underneath the rough exterior Wash built, this was what he was truly like.

Wash was the kind of friend who’d show up to lunch with multiple bendy straws and hand them out to everyone. And then, of course, act like it was no big deal. The kind of person who would laugh at cat videos until he cried. The person who’s entire body would become red when complimented. And Sarge and Grif were right, he was the kind of person who thrived off of positive reinforcement.

But Freelancer hardened him. Carolina put him in his place—even if now she was trying to fix that—he let himself darken. Wash spoke in clipped tones with most people, fought to be in control for once in his life and rarely let his guard down.

That man, though, was gone right here and right now. This was Wash being excited, being passionate. Wash deserved to know that it was okay to be that way.

Tucker was so lost in his thoughts, he’d nearly forgotten his horror of knives being thrown around in any context. “See, Connie helped me learn to juggle them.” He threw them up, one by one, maintaining a steady rotation for each. “She also taught me to catch them. I could teach you that one day, too.”

Tucker had no idea who Connie was. A sister? A lover? “Uh, Wash, who is Connie?”

“She was... my best friend,” Wash said, suddenly forlorn and lost. Before he shook his head to steady his resolve. “Everything happens for a reason, doesn’t it Tucker?” Tucker nodded, and Wash hardened himself to continue what he was doing. “See, if I start from the tip, I can nail this into that wooden board over there. It wouldn’t work from the handle.”

His demonstration was fluid and perfect. Tucker was so lost in the footwork that he barely noticed the knife being released at all. One step forward, not too large nor too little. Fingers releasing in time with the crisp flick of his wrist. The knife impaled itself into the wall with fervor, and Wash turned to face him with a look that searched for approval.

“Wash, you’re... fantastic.”

Even though it was what Wash had been searching for, he had no idea what to do with the praise. It made Tucker smile a bit. “Thank you, Tucker.” Cheekily, his voice chirped, “See, you’ll notice that’s the benefit of training and practice.”

Tucker snorted, knowing that Wash was of course going to reference that lesson. It seemed to be the running joke between them. “You’re probably right, but consider this: there’s a benefit to taking breaks, too.”

“Was there anything else you were planning on doing, Tucker?” He glanced at his watch. “My free hour is nearly over.”

“If I tell you what I’m planning on doing, you’ll be right about something, and man, I just refuse to allow that,” Tucker answered.

With a dramatic scoff, Wash flipped him off, barely containing a smile. “I’m going to head to the war room. If you need me.” The unsaid was there: please need me. “You can always talk to me about... this.” He glanced to the knife in the wall.

Tucker nodded. “Yeah. Yeah I can. Now get the hell outta here, Tucker’s got some training to do.”

Wash grinned in delight. “A-ha! So you are training!”

“Uh, did I say training? I meant to say jerking off.”

Wash’s face heated up again, eyes drifting down to Tucker’s sweatpants, drilling holes into him. Wash caught himself staring, and bit his lip, trying to drag his eyes away. Tucker watched Wash go through a personal meltdown and did nothing to help. “Probably,” he breathed out, “not a good thing to say to the person who’s planning your next mission.”

“You’re right, I couldn’t have anyone come on it,” Tucker hinted, a silent demand that Wash not accompany him.

Wash’s tongue darted out to coat his lips, his gaze once again aligning with Tucker’s. “We could make it a two man reconnaissance.” He straightened himself out. “Good plan, Captain. I expect to be hearing plans of the same caliber later tonight.”

Tucker hated how exciting that sounded—-and how intriguing it was that Wash was subtly talking dirty to him in the middle of the training hall. Despite its emptiness, since most of the recruits were raiding the mess hall, the suggestions had their appeal. An exhibitionist, if he’d ever seen one. And he had.

He shook the notion from his head though, as he needed to get things done. Training was necessary to succeed, and he had lots of it to do. Settling into a familiar rhythm of footwork drills, he began his practice.

* * *

 

Tucker knew two things in life that were certain. One of course, was that everyone on the internet who claimed to be a woman had some form of man in their hearts—as, really, women didn’t use the internet, right? His mom always said she was too busy for it, but that could be for other reasons. And the second was: if someone is kissing you while you’re asleep, don’t kiss back till you know who it is. It was an important lesson he learned during high school when he accidentally made out with the party hosts’ girlfriend who came crashing into the room Tucker had been in.

Why was any of this relevant to Tucker?—well, that would be because of the pair of hot lips that pressed against his own with passion and fervor unlike Tucker had engaged in before (with perhaps the exception of Kaikaina)— Strong legs and a well built figure straddled his waist and occupied his chest.

See, Tucker didn’t remember how this happened. Last night, he returned to his room a little later than intended. This occurred after he managed to stumble out of the training hall littered with small bruises from embarrassing falls and the everlasting ache of muscle strain.

He had noted that Wash wasn’t present, and so he simply presumed the blonde was still preoccupied in the meeting room with one of Kimball and Doyle’s squabbles. Instead of worrying about it, Tucker allowed himself to peacefully shower and he clambered into bed, not taking long to drift off to sleep.

So why, again, were there fingers tangling themselves in his new haircut, fiery lips on his own, and a body aching with need, grinding against his?

Right. Wash.

Wash, who just yesterday he refused to kiss at all. “Tucker, wake up,” Wash cooed, because, despite how desperate Wash seemed for affection, he was by no means a rapist. He wouldn’t force himself on Tucker.

“Wash, don’t you wanna just sleep?” Tucker whined, for once not wanting to follow his sex drive. Or at least, his mind didn’t. His lower half seemed to have other ideas.

Wash pouted, keeping that childlike wonder Tucker had experienced earlier during the knife session. He had to thank Wash for that, too. “Well, I do, but... I just wanted you to know how much you mean to me.” He brought his lips to the corner of Tucker’s mouth, placing a chaste kiss there. “Thank you for trusting me with the knives, today.”

Tucker swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Of course I trust you, who’s better with knives than you?”

Wash smiled pridefully. “Not Felix.”

Tucker grinned. “Right. Not Felix. Fuck him.” Wash nodded in agreeance. “Thank you for helping me.”

An eager look of want crossed Wash’s face. “I could help you in... other aspects, too,” he muttered, shyly. Tucker was warm with endearment at the coy embarrassment on Wash’s face at his own suggestion—at being so forward.

“Wash, I have to rest. That mission is coming up,” Tucker insisted, trying to settle down.

Wash frowned. “Oh, yes. That mission. Tucker, I’ve already spoken to Kimball, and she’s giving us the okay to go Sunday. Is that alright with you?” Well, at least his erection was flagging. Nothing killed the mood like talk about mission assignments. But, Tucker would admit, at least, he was happy that they would be getting the salve so soon.

“Yeah baby, sounds good. Who’s all going?”

Wash averted his eyes bashfully, squirming a bit. “Tucker, it was a two man job. Kimball said I would accompany you while Carolina held down the fort.”

Tucker’s mouth fell open. “A... two man job. Is what it is.” He paused. “Just my luck.” Tucker tacked on, a bit quieter.

“I think it will be a good time for me to evaluate your skill level,” Wash said, presisting on as if Tucker had never said anything. And in that same voice that was so familiar to him. “You know, Captain Tucker, I’ve been told I am quite good back up in serious situations—something you said yourself, actually.”

Tucker rolled his eyes. “I don’t know man, doesn’t sound like something I would say.”

Wash snorted, diving back in for a gentle and slow kiss. And dammit, just like yesterday, Tucker felt the urge to stop him. To pull away and demand that Wash fuck off, just like everyone else always did. But Wash wanted to look out for him, wanted Tucker to trust him, hold him, never leave him—never not come back just like—Allison—and for a small second Tucker realized it. Everything Wash was feeling was just a projection.

If Wash was an AI and his brain created a byproduct, it would be Tucker. The one person who didn’t leave or abandon him like the rest. It was terrifying and thrilling all at once to be someone’s everything.

“Hey Wash,” Tucker began, a challenging tone to his voice. “Prove you’re good enough to be on the mission.”

Wash swallowed thickly, breath coming out shallowly. “How do you want me to prove it, Tucker?” he questioned, as if he didn’t know. He couldn’t play innocent since the suggestive note in his voice gave away his desire.

“Lay on your back, Wash, hands up by the headboard.” It was the same voice he used when he scolded the Lieutenants. Or when he ordered around Red Team—the voice he learned from Wash himself.

Wash rolled his hips. “Or,” he gasped, “what?”

“You’ll find out soon enough, Wash.” He placed his lips by the shell of Wash’s ear, licking beneath it slowly. “On your back. Now.”

Wash hesitantly moved himself off of Tucker. Neither of them had contact for a brief second, and Tucker could see how badly that bothered Wash. He would have to take advantage of that.

Sensually, Wash rose his hands to the metal rods that made up his headboard. He grabbed onto them and stared at Tucker with pupil-blown eyes. Tucker took no time to wait around and ducked down around Wash so that the man’s legs were hooked over his shoulders.

“Like this?” Wash inquired, looking for appraisal.

Tucker nodded, knowing that Wash could feel his breath moving up and down his thigh. He dragged his teeth up lazily, listening to the soft whimpers that came from Wash. “Wash, do you like knowing that you’re doing well?”

Tucker could feel Wash’s flush all the way down to his inner legs. “I...” Tucker chose that moment to clamp down a bit harder. Wash threw his head back, moaning. He choked off in small breaths and didn’t answer Tucker’s question.

Tucker wasn’t fond of being left in the dark. He smacked Wash’s ass, and while the angle didn’t leave much wiggle room, the concept was still very received. “Wash, did I ask you a question?”

Wash’s dick twitched. “Yes, Tucker.”

“What do you do when someone asks you a question? You think you can just let them answer it themselves? Huh?” He wasn’t sure why he was acting this way. Why he felt so driven to just push Wash a little further—but it felt perfect. It felt like this was meant to be this way. He just wanted to put Wash in that place where he wouldn’t be so wound up, so paranoid—and most importantly, Tucker wanted to be depended on. Tucker placed firm hands on his waist, a reassuring and tight grip. “Well, Wash?”

“No, Tucker. I—I’m sorry. I do like hearing I do well for you. Just wanna please you,” Wash rambled, arching up into Tucker’s hands. “Please touch me, Tucker, please.”

“Wash, Wash, just relax. This is a test, okay? I’m here to see just how long you can hold out. Put that stamina to work,” he said deviously. He put his fingers on Wash’s lips. “Suck.”

And Wash did. He did because Tucker told him to—demanded he do it, and Tucker saw that register in the blonde’s eyes. It was intoxicating, watching this take over Wash, see the way his clouded mind registered Tucker’s words as orders. Took them as things that couldn’t be debated. The way his body just melted into Tucker’s touch—Tucker completely and totally in control of Wash.

Wash used his talented tongue to swirl around the pads for a few moments before seeing how far he could take them into his throat. His teeth gently grazed Tucker’s knuckles, but there was no intention to bite down. The Freelancer’s round-almond shaped eyes watched Tucker distantly, trying to get a grip on the reality he was living. Tucker felt nearly the same.

He withdrew his fingers, relishing in the way Wash whined in complaint, mouth chasing the trail of saliva. “Tucker—” he gasped, fear present as Tucker leaned away.

“Just grabbing lube, I don’t want to hurt you,” Tucker muttered, feeling impatient. But it was true. He didn’t want to hurt Wash, just like how Wash didn’t want to hurt him with the knife earlier. “Strip,” he ordered. Wash hastily did as he was told, eager to please Tucker. Tucker was in charge of him now. Tucker would keep him safe.

He coated his fingers with the lotion substance, and brought those same fingers to Wash’s backside. He traced the crevice of his crack, deciding to see what Wash would take. “Tucker, please, come on—”

He bit just above Wash’s navel. “Wash, shut up or, I’ll leave.” He wouldn’t do that. He should—he really shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be touching Wash, winding him up and forcing him to depend on him—but he wasn’t going to stop. He didn’t want to stop. This was the only solution, right?

“No, Tucker, don’t, don’t, I’ll be good.” Wash was torn between thrusting into Tucker’s mouth and pushing back into the hand that seemed to be inching closer and closer to his hole by the second.

Tucker grinned. “Okay, try and hold still for me then.”

He took Wash’s length into his mouth, running his tongue over the vein that was on the underside. Wash grabbed the sheets, bucking his hips into Tucker’s mouth. Not listening to a word Tucker had said.

When his hips were in air, Tucker smacked him on the ass again, the same place as last time. He pulled his mouth off with an obscene pop, but he couldn’t hear it over Wash’s mewl of protest. “Tucker, Tucker, please—”

“I remember saying, ‘hey Wash, hold the fuck still’ but you don’t seem to want to do that. If you act like that, you don’t get anything.” Tucker held Wash’s gaze until the man tore his eyes away.

With a heavy voice, Wash spoke, “Tucker, please, I’ll do anything, please don’t stop.”

Tucker shrugged. “Since you asked so nicely. You know, I really wish you did that more often, baby.” He ran his fingers around Wash’s hole, teasing the rim. Wash looked like he wanted to press back into the touch, but knew better than to. Tucker made it very clear what the punishment was if he did.

He pushed one finger in, feeling Wash’s body tense at the intrusion before melting into the touch. Tucker lowered his mouth back onto Wash, multitasking. One finger became two, massaging Wash’s inner walls, stretching him with no intention to fuck him.

Wash gasped, his entire body shaking weakly. “Hn, Tuck—Tucker. So good, feels so good. Need you.”

Tucker smirked, humming around Wash’s cock, sending vibrations through it—Wash moaned loudly, repeating Tucker’s name like a mantra. It felt so great to be needed, to feel like he was good enough for Wash. He was so fucking selfish for doing this. For wanting to do this to Wash. Taking advantage of this scenario in which Wash trusted him.

Tucker knew he too wanted someone to care for him. But more so, he wanted to be depended on. And dammit if Wash wasn’t providing that for him.

He added a third finger, searching for Wash’s prostate. He knew as soon as he nailed it, because Wash screamed. Goddamn, every soldier on this floor would know that Tucker was turning Wash to mush. Tucker brought his other hand to tweak Wash’s nipple, raking dull nails around his chest.

“Fuck, fuck me Tucker,” Wash begged throatily, his throbbing length hot and heavy in Tucker’s mouth.

Tucker slid off, a shark-like smirk on his lips. “Nah baby, I’d prefer to watch you come on my fingers.” He couldn’t bring himself to fuck Wash. He couldn’t do it, not yet—no, not ever. He was doing this for Wash. He shouldn’t be getting off on it, he was just doing this to help him. This was what Doyle was talking about. What Sarge had hinted at. No, he wouldn’t fuck Wash. He couldn’t go through that without forming some more attachments himself.

Wash groaned high and desperate. “But before that, I’m gonna see how much you can handle.”

Wash hissed out a soft noise of approval. “Whatever you want, just let me come soon, please—”

“I need you to hold out while I do this—” He smashed his fingers into Wash’s prostate repeatedly, teasing the sensitive nerves relentlessly. “And this—” Then, he resumed his massage on Wash’s nipples, twisting them to cause just enough pain that Wash would love. “And, lastly—” He deep throated Wash, using his tongue to circle the tip.

“Oh my god.” Wash tangled his fingers in Tucker’s hair again, pulling him down further, doing everything in his power not to thrust up. Tucker continued to thrust into his prostate, listening to Wash’s hot and heavy pants. Tucker made sure to keep the pace up for what must have been at least a minute before Wash cried out, “Tucker, I’m gonna come—”

Tucker licked his cock a final time, before pulling off completely. “Come on baby, you can come.”

With a loud moan, Wash spilled his seed all over the bed. He seemed breathless, overwhelmed with relief. Tucker’s name on his lips. A few short beats later was all it took before Wash was up and at Tucker.

Tucker stumbled backward, “Hey, woah-ho dude, how are you feeling?”

Wash swallowed, shuddering. “Yes, good—uh, great.” His movements overcast and his eyes with a murky covering. He rolled Tucker over, hips rolling on Tucker’s—and even Tucker would admit how impressive Wash’s stamina was. “Come on Tucker, let me do something for you. It’s only fair.”

Tucker looked at Wash. Really studied him for a moment. The blonde wrapped his arms around his neck, his focus entirely on Tucker—it made Tucker feel guilty. He felt like he used Wash. What he did was wrong, he shouldn’t have enjoyed that as much as he did. Watching Wash come apart like that, it shouldn’t rile Tucker up like it did. 

“I need to shower,” Tucker sighed and went to push Wash off so he could stand.

Wash huffed, looking frustrated, and he pulled Tucker down onto him. “Tucker, come on... You already loosened me up so you could fuck me... want you to fill me up so bad,” he practically whined.

Tucker inhaled sharply. He had more than a few questions on his mind: How the fuck was Wash so damn attractive? Why did he make it so hard to leave? Where did this side of Wash come from?

“Dammit, Wash. Fuck.” Wash ground his hips upward, and the friction felt fucking great. Tucker took a shuddering breath, before pushing Wash into the mattress. “Go to bed, Wash.” And in seconds, he was off the bed before Wash could stop him. He threw a towel over his shoulder and stalked off towards the showers down the hall.

He kept his mind clear until he submerged himself into the hot spray of the shower, trying to ignore his aching erection. Tucker didn’t want to think about Wash right now, but as of the past few weeks, it had been impossible. If Wash was trying to solidify his place in Tucker’s life, he was succeeding.

Tucker enjoyed being with Wash way too much. He needed to remember why he shouldn’t be with him in the first place. There was obviously his brain damage and PTSD that made him vulnerable to Tucker’s affection. Tucker could accidentally take advantage of that. How Wash would become violent and cold when others hurt Tucker—wouldn’t Tucker being with him enable that? Or how about because it was just Wash? His leader, his mentor—it was wrong, right?

He lathered himself in soap, realizing all the holes in his arguments. Wash would continue to be violent either way. Wash’s PTSD didn’t define him as a person. The damage from Epsilon wasn’t always present. Tucker loved Wash, it wasn’t wrong because it didn’t matter. A part of Tucker had always loved Wash.

And it was because Wash didn’t leave him, didn’t hurt him, and fuck—what the fuck was Tucker supposed to do?

Quietly, Tucker shut off the spray. He would have to get back to his room at some point, anyway.


	9. 9.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a brief shower, Tucker has to face his reality and make a choice. Then, of course, he has to go about his day. Isn't he lucky?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to my beta as usual!   
> sorry for not uploading as soon as i had wanted. i got distracted with lolix. i fell back into the rabbit hole.   
> which also is something i should say: technically, lolix is mentioned in this chapter. it's not too explicit if you hate that ship, but. figured i'd mention it and add a tag.   
> i'm realizing as i've written this, it's a bit of a really long character study. just thought that was kinda funny.   
> anyway, cheers! <3

The ninth time it happened, it was set to occur later during the day when Tucker was beginning to get a grip on reality. He still had much to go through to get to that point. And where his choices began, started here.

Tucker searched blindly for the white towel he’d brought in with him. The lights had turned off—a standard feature in most places. He felt what he assumed must be the towel and wrapped the coarse material around his waist. He massaged his temples, realizing just how tired he was. His body ached from exhaustion and stress.

He partook in a long yawn, feeling better that no one would be awake to patronize him. He always tried to avoid yawning in front of the Lieutenants. He was Lavernius Tucker, he didn’t need to yawn—since he always took breaks and relaxed on the job. Or at least, that’s what he told everyone. He didn’t need them thinking he was becoming a goody goody like Wash. Unfortunately, he was so busy all the time that he didn’t have time to take breaks and relax anymore.

Pausing, he lingered in the hallway just outside the bathroom. Did he really want to return to his room? To where Wash would surely be waiting, wanting an explanation, just like always? When the fuck did this become ‘the norm’?

He knew either way there would be some form of confrontation: like it or not. He remembered what Tex said about situations about this.

She settled onto the Blue Team couch, turning towards Tucker, an audible sigh spilling from her lips. “Tucker, I know you don’t often approve of the relationship Church and I have.” Tucker merely shrugged at the time. He had been yelled at by Church for trying to help him after Tex disappeared for a week.

“No. I guess not,” Tucker responded.

She nodded expectantly. “And, I understand it... I do.” The room was tense, their shoulders were too far to be touching but close enough to provide the feeling that she was there. “I hate this sappy shit, Tucker. But I do really care about Church. The problem is, what we’re doing, what’s going on—it’s not right. I don’t want Church to be dependent on me.”

Thinking about it, Tucker hadn’t known why Church would be that way back then. Why Church was so fixated on Tex. But it was because it was his programming. It was in his core—Allison, Tex, Beta, protect her, find her, don’t lose her, let her protect me.

“The only way I can make it through this and still keep him is to not keep pussyfooting around it,” she told him decidedly. “Not keep running.”

“Are you going to?”

“Hmm?” she asked.

“Are you going to stop running?” he restated.

Tex was silent for a moment. “Church needs me. And yet, I don’t need him. But I want him.” She swallowed down a lump in her throat. “It’s wrong of me to take advantage of that.”

Tucker knew that train of thought all too well. Maybe nowadays, now that he was older, wiser, less of a smartass to her—him and Tex would’ve gotten along better. Would’ve maybe even understood each other. The way Church threw himself into danger time and time again just for her, and the way she kept running with it. It was too familiar.

“Yeah. It is,” Tucker had said, anyway.

She blinked. “So, do I run, or do I stay? Do I hurt him more? Or do I allow him to bury himself in this... idea?” Her breath came out short and shallow. It was one of the very few times Tucker would ever remember her sounding genuinely out of her element.

“I don’t know, Tex. You say you love him. Well guess what, he’s my best friend, I love him too. Maybe you have the strength to run, but I don’t.”

Tex frowned. “I don’t know if I have the strength...” The words were nearly inaudible. With an abrupt change of pace, she said, “Tucker, we’re never going to talk about this again. Do you understand?”

“Yeah. That’s fine with me. It’s not like you’ll have a reason to talk to me once Church warms back up to you. Oh, and while he’s at it, leaving me in the dust. But no, really, I’m glad you’re back,” he sniped out cruelly.

He wanted to hate Tex, back then. But now, here he was, wondering just what she would tell him now. She was downright mean. She was stronger than Tucker, both physically and spiritually. Tucker was jealous of her. Once, he had wanted to be depended on the way Church depended on Tex. Now he understood her dilemma, her desire to run.

Tucker was never as strong as Tex. He was too weak to Wash. The difference was that Tex hadn’t been abandoned before. She was beautiful, intelligent, powerful. People wanted to be with her. Tucker was nearly certain he didn’t have that problem. Sometimes it felt like people were just itching to get away from him, wondering when they could leave him.

Not Wash. Never Wash. In the returning times from when they’d been separated, Wash had grown more and more attached. Wash didn’t want to abandon him.

Tucker was hit with a violent sense of déjà vu, standing just outside of the room. He knew the image he would receive when he walked in there was to be Wash, wrapped up in Tucker’s blankets, focused completely on Tucker. The scene shook him. He almost wanted to open the door right away to see Wash. He managed to stop himself; he needed to be calm and approachable as not to cause any argument.

With a level head, he gently stepped into the room. Wash, in all of his glory, was in Tucker’s bed. He curled up in a way that made him look smaller than usual. How he folded in on himself. Wash was a deck of cards and Tucker was the wind.

“Hey, Wash, you okay?”

It was like Wash’s body had woken up. He rolled over, opening his posture, considerate and interested eyes capturing Tucker’s. “Fine, Tucker. How was your shower?” It took seconds before his gaze was dipping down to the droplets of water that had beaded on his chest. His mouth hung open.

“Uh, great.” He tried not to think about how desperately Wash had begged Tucker to fuck him, to use Wash to pleasure himself. And he definitely tried to forget there was only a layer of cloth separating Wash’s hot mouth and his dick.

He failed. “Tucker, I really wouldn’t mind taking care of—”

“Wash, no. Hands to your side,” Tucker commanded, and Wash’s look of confusion and distress morphed into something trusting and prompting. “Fuck, no, Wash, that wasn’t an order—”

Wash blushed furiously. “Well, obviously, it’s not like I’d follow your orders anyway.”

Prideful as ever, Tucker stared in disapproval. “Funny, because you weren’t acting that way about an hour ago.”

Wash rolled his eyes. It felt so much better to be able to talk to Wash this way. Without concerns or doubts. Tucker would—as he always did—fuck it up. “Wash, people have been talking about your priorities.” The serious look Wash shot his way sent chills down his spine. Way to fucking go, Tucker thought.

Wash narrowed his gaze. “Oh, are they? And what exactly are they saying?”

“That you shouldn’t have been promoted,” he lied. “Since, all you seem to care about is... well, you know, dude.”

“No. No I don’t, Tucker.” Tucker’s mouth tasted foul, unsure what to say back. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest. “Those people are attempting to make me feel bad about my choices. My... loyalties. And where they lie.”

Tucker nodded. “Yeah, that. Great, dude.”

“They can say whatever they want. I don’t owe them anything. You, however, I do. You know that, right?” A tiny, rare smile crossed his face. It shouldn’t have reassured Tucker like it did. “You could’ve left me for dead. After the Meta. But you gave me Church’s armor.”

“Yeah, well, we needed a leader. Since... ours left,” he paused and sighed. “Just like always. But whatever, I don’t care about that shit anymore.” And, while honestly, he had forgiven Church, that unfortunately didn’t mean he didn’t care.

“Yeah,” Wash said. “Tucker, I know that a couple years ago I was... not a great person. I mean, I’ve killed hundreds of people. The first half because I was blind and naive. The second because I was hurt and angry. Tucker, I saw my best friend’s dead bodies, and felt nothing. I took York’s healing unit and blew up his body. I didn’t even say anything about North. It wasn’t a great time for me.”

“But why, Wash? Why couldn’t you feel anything?” Tucker inquired, feeling devastated at Wash’s confession. If Tucker had seen Church dead today, he would shatter. The first time Church died didn’t count—Church was a right prick and they barely knew each other.

Wash choked out a sad laugh. “When my implant went south, when the ship crashed—they didn’t come back for me, Tucker. They left me. I’ve been broken, shot, left for dead, abandoned.” Well, that hit closer to home than Tucker would like to admit. “But you and Caboose haven’t left me. You didn’t leave me for dead, you haven’t and you promised you wouldn’t.”

Tucker knew that Wash wasn’t exactly mentally stable. He knew this from his ruthlessness in the past, his short temper with most but his seemingly endless patience with the Reds and Blues. How dangerously he held grudges. And these words, these pleads that came from Wash—it only solidified how dependent he truly was on needing someone to help him through this.

“So, if I lost you, if something happened to you... I couldn’t survive it. I refuse to live my life without you in it. I mean nothing without you, you and Caboose, and even the fucking Reds, Tucker.” He pressed himself off of the mattress and into Tucker’s space, yet again.

His skin was warm, just cooling down from the heat he’d been experiencing not an hour earlier. He cupped his hands around Tucker’s face, just staring into Tucker’s deep set eyes. Tucker swallowed softly, and he carefully watched Wash’s adam’s apple bob, doing the same thing.

In the heat of the moment, in a decision Tucker would write off as a mistake in just a few hours, he closed the distance between their mouths. Wash’s lips were a bit smaller than his own, and coarser than most of the woman’s he’d been with, but they were distinctly Wash. Tucker brought his own hands to action. One resting on Wash’s side and the other tenderly holding the back of his head.

Wash gasped in surprise, shaken by Tucker’s initiation but wasted no time pressing back into it. Starting closed mouth, just the gentle continuation and reassurance that they were there, but it didn’t take long for it to grow heavy and slicked. Tucker bit softly on Wash’s lip, making him shudder. Wash tightened his grip, tilting his head for more access.

Slowly they pulled themselves out of the embrace. Tucker was the first to stop—coming to terms with the decision he’d made. He chose to kiss Wash. He shouldn’t, shouldn’t do this—but he wanted to. He wanted this. He wanted to be Wash’s everything. Wanted to show Wash that there was a side to life where he wouldn’t be left.

Wanted to work with his behavior. He shouldn’t enable it. Shouldn’t let Wash think it’s okay. Goddammit there were so many things that Tucker shouldn’t do. And yet, there were so many things that he wanted.

“Tucker, that was—”

Tucker silenced him with another kiss. Much more chaste, but it lingered for a second. He couldn’t handle a second opinion on this right now, it would tear him apart on the inside. Right now, he knew one thing for sure. He cared for Wash, and he wanted to be with Wash.

There were things that told him not to. Things that told him to do it. Outside forces—Doyle saying to enable Wash’s possessiveness with reassurance. Sarge saying to keep him on a tight leash. Dr. Grey hinting that he should do nothing without further research. Maybe getting those brain scans were the option he should pursue.

He pulled Wash down under the covers with him. “Go to bed, dude. It’s—” He checked the time. It was 1 in the morning. “Late. If we get to sleep now, I might even be productive during drills tomorrow.”

Wash yawned. “Doubtful.” Wash scratched the back of his neck sleepily, kissing Tucker a final time. “Goodnight, Tucker.”

“Night, Wash.”

*

The first thing he noticed was that there was a significant lack of a person beside him. Wash wasn’t in bed. He blearily glanced to the clock, 4 in the morning. No fucking way should he be waking up this early. Tucker wasn’t a morning person.

Of course, this begged the question, what was Wash doing? Sitting up a bit straighter, he saw that Wash was pacing by the door. Silent, as ever. It was amazing that he managed to be so quiet.

“Wash, dude, what the fuck?”

Wash startled out of his thoughts, stopping his pacing. “Oh no. Tucker, I didn’t wake you, did I? I knew I was too loud. I really don’t want to bother you, maybe I shouldn’t sleep in here anymore.”

Complete one-eighty of his normal statements. Or at least, what had been normal lately. “Wash, what the hell?”

“It was just a nightmare. I can’t take the medication Grey prescribed,” Wash rambled, looking upset. “She wanted to do brain scans but I know my brain, and I’m fine,” he huffed exasperatedly.

Tucker frowned. Grey wanted him to get brain scans... It all connected from there. She was too smart for her own good. Tucker would be the only person to get Wash to agree to such things. “Wash, I don’t think it would hurt to get the brain scan.”

Wash’s face briefly flashed betrayal, then disgust, and lastly sadness. “I’m not broken, Tucker,” Wash protested, staring down at his hands sadly. “I’m not.”

“No, Wash. Not broken.” Wash’s thoughtful eyes met his own, big and unquestioning in Tucker’s statement. “She’s not scanning because anyone thinks you’re broken. She’s scanning ‘cause she wants to find a way to ensure that you’re not going to have these problems anymore.”

Wash scowled, his tough mask building itself up again. “I don’t need her to do that, Tucker. I’m capable of handling myself.”

“Wash. It’s clearly affecting you,” Tucker argued, almost immediately.

Wash growled softly, “it doesn’t matter.” Where it concerned his own health, his own downfalls, Wash refused to acknowledge them. He always brushed everything off, immediately bouncing back into action no matter the severity.

Tucker knew the only way to get Wash to agree to this. “You said the nightmares made you not want to sleep by me.”

Wash nodded hesitantly. “Well, yes. I don’t want to risk hurting you.” Tucker stepped closer, hands raised in the air as if Wash were a frightened animal. “It’s a possibility.”

“So, you’d rather be stubborn than spend time in bed with me,” Tucker accused. It felt wrong because it was clearly not true. Wash would saw off his arm before he gave up the opportunity to bother Tucker. But Wash liked to pretend Tucker didn’t know that. Tucker could tell, from the way Wash’s cheeks would heat whenever Tucker hinted that Wash wanted him around.

Wash sputtered, “Well, I—it’s not like you want me around, anyway. But... maybe I should get it checked out. Just in case.”

“Smooth,” Tucker deadpanned. Wash was sometimes so much like a woman. Way too complex, seriously. He had to tell him what he wanted, without actually telling him what to do. He got way too much déjà vu from that thought train.

Wash’s rigid posture broke: it looked like his bones had clicked back into place. “I’ll show you smooth,” Wash muttered, backing Tucker into bed.

How bad could it be if Tucker wanted this?

*

Morning drills were nearing their end. The clock was laughing at him, staring like a vulture, taunting his helpless self. Wash charged around the room, fixing everyone’s form for sparring. He pointedly demonstrated on Tucker and would end it with a possessive grin that should bother Tucker way more than it did.

“Captain Tucker, are you going to smittenly ogle Carolina all day or are you going to actually get your shit done?” Wash snapped, looking disappointed and angry.

Tucker rose an eyebrow. “Did you just say smitten? Who the fuck says smitten?”

“Well I do. You would know that if you bothered to listen to your authority figures, and really, just me in general.” Wash stormed off, going over to correct Sarge’s tight hold on Donut who didn’t even seem that phased considering he was upside down.

Carolina narrowed her eyes at Tucker in confusion, briefly at Wash, and then back to Tucker in question. He knew that look. Classic Church confrontation. He remembered her offer from yesterday. Maybe he should take her up on it, after all, very few people knew Wash like Carolina did.

“Tucker.” She beckoned him over, taking a small second to watch Wash’s retreating figure. As if making sure they were safe to talk. “Wash is worrying.”

“Oh really? I thought he was just calling me out in front of all our friends for talking to you because he was in a good mood.” Tucker answered. “Hey, I’m Carolina, I make fantastic observations. Wanna hear something cool? Sometimes the sky is blue.”

“Thank you, Tucker. I understand.” She responded in a voice that reminded him so violently of Alpha that his chest hurt. “I understand that you’re frustrated, and tired, and from Wash’s demeanor this morning, you were up late—”

“Carolina. Cut to the chase. Wash could come over at any second,” he said, a serious tone locking into his voice.

Her brow furrowed. “Tucker. He seems... off. Okay? I think Wash would benefit from—”

Tucker felt rage flood through his veins, a red blanket falling over his vision. How dare she? “I think Wash would have benefited from stable teammates in Freelancer, Carolina. Maybe don’t stick your nose in other people’s business.”

Epsilon materialized on his shoulder. Because of course, Church would never choose his side, would always back Carolina or Tex, and always make Tucker the bad guy. “That wasn’t Carolina’s fault, you dick!”

“How? Her and the whole team left him for dead on that fucking ship!” Tucker argued.

Church snarled at him, crossing his arms, tilting his head in a clear show of his anger. “Shut the fuck up Tucker. You don’t even know her.”

Carolina sighed deeply. “Church. That’s enough.” Epsilon scowled, turning to face her. “Log off. I won’t ask you again.” Briefly, Church flipped Tucker off before disappearing. Church was never able to defy the women in his life.

“Tucker. Just yesterday you were able to talk to me.” Her voice lowered, concern present. “What’s wrong? I just want to help you and Wash.” Tucker knew that. He didn’t know why responded so heatedly to Carolina’s declaration of help. She was taking the steps to make up for her mistakes during the Freelancer years.

Her dazzling red hair spilt over her shoulder, and the roots were fading. Tucker nearly forgot that she dyed her hair to be the color it was. To avoid seeming like Tex. To be her own person. Tucker couldn’t believe he was thinking it, but he was feeling something similar. Just like Tex, even when she wasn’t around.

“Tucker, I was thrown off a cliff to die, I couldn’t go back for Wash.” Tucker lowered his eyes at the tired note in her voice. She swallowed thickly. “And, York didn’t go back because he wanted to find me. North took South and left him. Obviously Wyoming didn’t care...”

“So no one cared,” Tucker clarified.

Carolina sucked in a sharp breath. “Tex looked for him, but she had to find Church—”

“Fuck that! Wash was going to die! His brain had been destroyed, he was stuck on a burning ship! Are you seriously going to tell me that it wasn’t a big deal?” Tucker imagined Wash being completely alone, begging for his friends to rescue him—and no one came. All alone. He would spend the next three years of his life in an angry haze, feeling nothing but betrayal.

Carolina lowered her head. “I’m sorry, Tucker. I can’t go back and change it, York chose to come after me, I’m sorry—”

“Yeah, and in doing so, he would hurt Wash. You know, sometimes I can see it in him, the way he used to be. He showed me knives yesterday, Carolina, he was so happy. I see it when he drinks his coffee out of bendy straws. I see the man he must have been,” Tucker insisted, remembering the chirping tone to Wash when Tucker complimented him on throwing the knife. Thinking about the way Wash would dump far too much sugar into his coffee and blush when Tucker made fun of him.

Carolina sighed, her eyes following Wash’s form in the distance. “Tucker, I didn’t want to—”

“Yeah, no shit, Carolina! But you did.” Tucker nailed her with a final glare, heading off to find Wash. Wash wanted him not to talk to Carolina, anyway.

Great, now Church was going to be mad at him. Not like that was anything new in the slightest. He glanced around the large training hall, the windows letting the bright light filter in. He sighed long and heavy, no longer able to ignore just how hurt he’d been feeling all the time.

Every single day felt so... achingly similar, yet so violently different. The consistent trope being just how little he underestimated things hurting. After years of emotional repression, most things were catching up with him. He missed Junior, he missed Church, he missed Blood Gulch—he missed the man he used to be but hated him at the same time.

He used to be such a fucking loser. Felix was right about the much. But at least back then, he was happy. He was oblivious to the pressures of a real war in which children were dying. In which his decisions could cost actual lives.

He felt so empty. He went through a mental checklist. His best friend?: Absent. His son?: Somewhere unknown. His responsibilities?: At an all time high.

Sure, now he could wield his sword with actual training. And he was in charge of military operations. He was smarter, bolder, more humble—a better person. But the cost of it all? The payment of him being this shell of a man. So tired, so guilty. Everyone on the planet trusting him. He could barely handle when Wash did it. But at least then it felt good—felt awe-inspiring, felt like he could do something right.

Loudly over the old crackling speakers, came an announcement from a familiar voice. “Captains and Generals, please report to the war room.” Kimball sounded off. Not exactly panicked, because, of course she wouldn’t. She was too smart to let her recruits know of her concern, but it was her different from her normal facade. There was an urgency there. Tucker met eyes with Sarge, who had just been flipped to the ground by Donut, of all people.

“Uh,” Sarge grunted, “We oughta head over. And never talk about today.” He sent a pointed stare to Donut who seemed awfully proud at flipping the short old man. “Ever.”

“Of all time.” Was added by a familiar form in a wheelchair. It was Caboose, who seemed happy as ever to be on site. It hurt Tucker’s chest in the same way it had yesterday to see him so down and out, but at least this way he wasn’t confined to that awful blank room. Lopez pushed him forward, as dead inside as ever.

Tucker was just happy to see Caboose again.

Wash jogged over to Tucker’s side. “Alright, everyone, let’s file out. Now!” He ordered, jabbing his finger in Grif’s direction, where the lazy man sprawled on the mat, waiting for Simmons to pull him up.

“Grif, you fatass, if I try to pull you up, Sarge is going to have to rework my arm again!”

Grif rolled his eyes, “Uh, yeah? So? Doesn’t that mean you spend more time with Sarge?”

Simmons blinked. “Well—I—oh. Grif, that’s actually really smart and astute—you just want me to lift you up,” he interrupted himself, shaking his head. “Why do I even bother?”

Donut jumped right beside them. “Love makes you do crazy things!”

Tucker was envious of Red Team. The bitter side of brain his said that he was reaching a peak low with thoughts like that. The sentimental side—the one that missed the canyon—just felt sad. He saw the four of them lean against one another and stumble after Caboose, who trailed behind Tucker and Wash, accompanied by an impatient Lopez.

Caboose nodded. “Ah yes. Love does do that. Church used to do all kinds of things for Tex.”

Grif crossed his arms, rising to his feet. “Yeah, not great things. Which sounds awfully familiar.” Tucker could feel Grif’s harsh gaze boring into his back.

He wanted to defend Wash. But at the same time, it was Grif. The man he considered a friend. And fuck, Carolina was his friend too. He needed to apologize to her that night. He shouldn’t have been so horrible, he just felt so defensive of Wash. Ever since last night, all the actions he took. Or Wash’s kisses this morning. Tucker was beginning to understand Wash, at least, but he knew it was still wrong.

“Wash, I need to talk to Grif,” he stated calmly, falling back. Wash faltered in his steps for a moment, watching Tucker go, but managed not to say anything. After all, Caboose wasted little time filling that position, catching up to Wash almost immediately.

Tucker met Grif’s gaze. “Grif, I thought things were getting better—”

Grif sneered. “Yeah, well, guess fucking what? Wash isn’t acting much different. I’ll hold up my end if you hold up yours.” He looked to Simmons for support.

Simmons nodded, not even needing to see that Grif wanted his backup. “Yeah, Wash hasn’t been making any progress. Just last night he told Kimball off for bringing up that mission.”

“What, like the two-man one we’re going on?”

Grif’s jaw dropped. “The what? No! You’re doing that? No! We’re talking about the big one! The one we talked about, like a week ago?”

Tucker nodded. “The one we were waiting on. For Caboose.” He knew which one, now. The big one the Reds and Blues would be going on in order to find supplies. God, he nearly forgot about it completely since all of this other shit came up in his life. He steadied himself, realizing just how forgetful he’d been.

He had a duty to this planet. Grif and Simmons were reminding him of that. His duty, he needed to redouble his efforts and focus on this civil war. On missions. Not on petty feelings. Not his own issues. He had a seventeen-year-old lieutenant who trusted him to make the right decisions—to make the right choice.

“Yeah. That one. The giant supply run,” Simmons responded. The ginger looked at Grif uneasily. “You didn’t forget, right? I know you were absent from the meeting yesterday, but Doyle said he did that on purpose.”

Tucker did a double take. “He what? He can’t go around excluding me from mission briefings, that has to be a violation of his rank! Did he explain his thought process to Kimball! Aw, fuck! She’s gonna murder me!”

Grif shrugged. “Dude, I don’t fucking know or care. All I know is that things have gone to hell since Wash started acting all possessive and shit. And now you’re just fucking enabling it! What you pulled was a short-term solution because as soon as you’re not with him, it’s like we’re dealing with the Wash from before we killed the Director!” His voice rose like a steady slope, in terms of volume, anger, and speed. Grif always talked quick when he was pissed off, because he was lazy and didn’t want the conversation to last long—or so he said.

“I—well—Grif.” Tucker, for once, didn’t have a witty answer or a set of words to deflect the accusations. He felt a bone-deep exhaustion come to life inside of him. “You’re right.”

“No, Tucker! Wait, did you say I’m right? Uh, yeah, man, fuck yeah I’m right...” They both went silent. Grif must have been overthinking. “But, uh, dude, look, we should grab a bottle of moonshine and catch up.” Grif put a hand on his shoulder. “Just, don’t fuck this up for the rest of us.”

Tucker swallowed thickly. Grif trusted him to do the right thing. Grif, his friend. Donut who trusted him, Simmons who trusted him, Sarge who asked of him—even Caboose. Maybe this was what Doyle had actually wanted. But that couldn’t be right. Doyle insisted he get together with Wash. Great plan, that was.

He nodded and stepped past Grif and Simmons’ stepping length. Made his stride a bit wider so he could catch up to Caboose and Wash. “Hey, Lopez, would you mind taking Caboose back by the Reds? Please?” Tucker asked, without really giving Lopez much of a choice.

If Lopez could roll his eyes, he would. “Sí, claro. Porque me encantan los rojos.” The obvious sound of sarcasm was the only thing Tucker could understand besides both ‘yes’ and ‘reds’.

Caboose giggled happily. “Yes, yes! We are going for a ride! I will see you later Agent Washington. Oh, wait, Major Washington!”

Wash smiled, letting Caboose get wheeled off. He settled in peacefully beside Tucker, his shoulders lost some of their tension. It was as though Tucker’s presence immediately calmed him. That would just make this all harder.

Tucker’s hands had been loose at his sides since he hated walking formally with them pressed against himself. Wash hesitantly wound their fingers together, glancing away almost immediately, hiding the heavy blush that took occupancy of his face.

“Wash. Grif told me about yesterday.”

And within seconds, Wash was stiff again. “Oh, did he?” A sidelong glance exposed Wash’s fear. He kept trucking along with Tucker though, aiming to head to the war room. Which wasn’t far. They were training in the central most gym facility. The war room was an old office used for the gym, but now hollowed out.

“Yeah. And, well, everyone’s agreeing on one thing, Wash.”

Wash scowled. “What?”

“They’re saying we shouldn’t be involved, and with what I’ve heard, I can’t help but agree with them.” Tucker said, trying to sound as clear and firm in his conviction as possible. The only problem was he didn’t quite know for sure how he felt. He only knew for certain that he needed to focus on winning this war, and remaining together with Wash wouldn’t solve that.

Wash stopped in his tracks. “Tucker, what? That’s ridiculous. I can’t—-you won’t—” he stopped himself abruptly. “What are you even saying?”

“I’m saying it’s better for war efforts if we’re just friends. You know? See each other at lunch and meetings. Maybe our training schedules will line up.” Tucker tried to seem nonchalant as not to wind Wash up, but it seemed he was too late for that.

Wash was floundering. “No, Tucker, but things were going well, I don’t understand.”

Tucker cast a glance to Grif and Simmons who walked past the two of them, nearly silent. For once not bickering, not saying anything. “No, dammit, Wash! Things weren’t going good! I thought being with you would be better for you! It’s only... fuck, I don’t know, enabled you!”

“Tucker, you’re going to start making sense right now,” Wash demanded.

  
Tucker groaned. “You’re just like Church was with Tex!”

Blue eyes hardened. “Take that back! I’m nothing like Church! Just because he was in my head, and yeah, I know sometimes I can’t distinguish my thoughts and the ones that were left behind, but Tucker I know me. I know that what I’m feeling is me.” He pointed to himself, wild gesticulations all about.

“His programming was in your head!” Tucker argued. “There’s no way you were this bad before.”

Wash growled. “Maybe not, but it’s who I am now. I thought you knew that!”

“I did! I do! And look, this isn’t because I dislike you! This is just because we both get caught up in each other, when we should be prioritizing the war. There are kids in this war, Wash.”

Wash nodded, “I know that, Tucker. That’s why I’m training them. They don’t deserve to die! I’ve never said that!’ He looked around, noticing that the Reds were gone. Caboose too, being led off by Lopez. “I just don’t want you to die, either.”

“Then try and act like it, Wash,” Tucker snapped. “If we’re going to be... an item, or whatever, you have to put your wants aside.”

Wash looked like he had been struck. “I don’t understand what you mean, Tucker. Ever since Epsilon, I’ve always fought for my life. But now, now I have you. I want to fight for your life.” He stepped closer, his nimble fingers catching Tucker’s. “I just want to be yours. I’d do anything for you, I just... I’ve always needed direction. That’s why trusting Carolina had always been so easy.”

“Oh.” Tucker let his hand be brought up to Wash’s face. Cupping it gently, feeling Wash nuzzle into his palm. Where Tucker’s skin wasn’t the same shade as the other side of his hand. “Wash, weren’t you sent to Freelancer because you had... issues with authority?” He frowned at the way he phrased it, and felt even worse that he knew a bunch of Wash’s personal information because Simmons dug it up. Back when Wash was a threat.

“Well. He was going to send us off to die. I refuse to make the choice that would get more people killed.” He glanced up, giving Tucker a look. “That’s why I care about these kids. Because I was one of those kids. I had just turned nineteen when I was a corporal. It’s not a great responsibility to bear, and these kids shouldn’t have to. But I don’t want you to be in danger either.”

“So, this is you projecting?”

Wash curled his lips. “Well. I—yes.”

“But, you admit, that sometimes you think about what happened to Allison. And how you can’t let that happen to someone you love,” Tucker clarified.

Wash glared. “Do not talk about her. Like you know her—like I know her,” he huffed, stumbling forward to hold Tucker. Letting his arms curl underneath Tucker’s, gripping his shoulders like he was a life ring and Wash was drowning in the ocean. “I’m in control of me. My brain is mine.”

“I know, Wash,” Tucker confirmed. “I know.”

“I don’t want to have to keep fighting for control. I just want someone else to keep me steady,” Wash admitted, words muffled into Tucker’s neck. “And Tucker, you keep me in the space where I know I’m me. So please. Stop comparing me to Church.”

“Wash, I didn’t know—”

“Which is why I keep choosing you. I’ll be better for you. I promise. Just. Don’t leave. Don’t make us go back. Don’t leave me with all of these things that aren’t mine.”

Tucker was ready to say something, but he received a ping on his datapad. It was a message from Emily Grey. Hi there, Tucker, I know you’re busy with unimportant things, but I have some pretty dire news. Do you remember glassing? -Emily

Tucker didn’t understand why she signed her name. He had caller ID. Obviously it was her. He racked his brain, thinking about what that word meant. Glassing. A few words passed through his brain, Noble Six, ONI--Reach! He gave Wash a sympathetic look, but clearly something was going on, and they had just agreed to put the war first. “Uh, yeah, sorry Wash. Hey, do you remember Reach?”

Wash stiffened. “What, you mean when humanity lost countless lives to the glassing from the Covenant? Of course, Tucker. You may forget, but I was part of Project Freelancer to murder Covenant soldiers.”

“Uh hey, watch it Wash, Junior’s an elite. The war is over, drop the hostilities,” Tucker spoke, his ambassador voice calm but dominating. Tucker knew he sounded powerful when he spoke that way, he ran tons of lines past his son when they spent their down hours together.

Wash blinked. “Oh. Fuck, Tucker, I’m sorry.”

Tucker rose his eyebrows, a dry look on his features. His broad and snubbed nose crinkled in expression. Wash mimicked the look with his petite nose, making the freckles crunch together. “Dude, whatever. Look, Grey brought up glassing and I’m really afraid it has something to do with Caboose.”

“Caboose?” Wash inquired. “And glassing? You must be mistaken.”

Tucker realized how close Wash was really standing. After he’d released him, Wash barely moved out of his space. Wash always had the scent of gunpowder and vanilla. It was both strong and reassuring, while not assaulting his senses. He had been getting used to the faint tinge of it in his bed.

“I hope I’m wrong.”

That was all Tucker managed to say before Wash pressed himself upward into Tucker’s arms for a soft kiss. His fingers locking behind Tucker’s neck, and Tucker allowed himself the pleasure of the moment. He massaged over the blonde hair on Wash’s forearms, multitasking easily with his tongue; stimulating Wash with his open mouthed kisses.

Wash sighed gently, Tucker heard him practically purr in contentment. He felt a shiver of possessiveness run through him when he realized that Wash would only act like this for fractions at a time, and only in the presence of Tucker. In the empty training hall.

“We need to go,” Wash muttered, the warm breath on Tucker’s lips.

“Uh-huh. Or, I could bring you to nearest janitors closet, you know what I’m saying? Maybe sweep you off your feet and on this dick. Bow chicka bow wow,” Tucker said, eyes still shut.

Wash rolled his eyes. “Gross. Do you ever think about the sanitary side of things?” He kissed him. “I pity your doctor.”

“I don’t have one. But every doctor I’ve ever seen in movies usually skips the actual check up part. They’re like ‘heya baby, let me make sure your breasts work’ and the patients’ like, ‘oh doctor, you’re so smart’. Although there is the one I watched about the gynecologist, that talked about sanitation--”

Wash yanked himself away from Tucker in faux disgust. “Okay. Well, good talking to you, this has been fun. But the war room is calling and I need an excuse to shut you up.” He pretended to brush himself clean of Tucker’s germs. “Keep up.” Wash waved his direction, walking away from Tucker.

“I hate it when you leave but I love watching you go.” Tucker called after him, walking slower to check out Wash’s ass. All things considered, it was pretty incredible. Tucker was rarely thankful for leg day, but damn those squats were paying off for everyone involved.

“Tucker!” Wash shouted. “Let’s go!”

*

Kimball was pacing the room as soon as they entered. She didn’t bother stopping to greet them, her eyes dancing across the image on the screen. Tucker barely took a moment to look at it, a bit too focused on the state of their leader.

Her dark hair was more disheveled. It looked greasy and matted. Her eyes were dull and her posture was more rigid than Wash’s on a bad day. Doyle didn’t look much better. Except he seemed to be losing more and more hair each day. From stress and maybe just pulling it out. His glasses sat on his nose, doing nothing to improve his vision. Tucker would attest that to him not wanting to see the screen before him.

“I’m almost surprised that Red Team beat you here, Tucker,” Kimball addressed, steps unfaltering.

Sarge clapped his hands together, grinning. “Well, that could be easily attributed to the superiority Red Team has!” Tucker always found Sarge’s enthusiasm entertaining and couldn’t help his fond chuckle. The way the man’s beard rose with his smile made Tucker incredibly happy.

“Yeah, we’re so good, we carry Blue Team, too.” Grif glanced down to Caboose, and then back to Tucker. The double meaning not going unmissed. “And I hate Red Team.”

“You idiot, you can’t hate Red Team, you’re on Red Team,” Simmons argued.

  
“And that’s never stopped me before,” Grif sniffed, plopping in his chair.

Wash sighed. “Guys, please shut up. Kimball didn’t call us in here for a tea party.” Everyone froze, sending icy looks to Wash for having the audacity to call them out on their attitudes. The tension in the room was palpable, and Tucker swallowed thickly. Wash didn’t seem to notice, and Tucker realized just how oblivious Wash could be sometimes.

“I’m going to replay this clip from Palomo’s helmet cam. Yesterday, he went on a brief recon mission. One that I was positive would be safe for our younger troops. And guess what?” Kimball stressed. “It almost wasn’t.”

She clicked something on her datapad, and the image on the screen flickered and then on it appeared the standard helmet cam. Palomo’s HUD blinking with updates and alerts. It wasn’t exactly Freelancer tech, but it wasn’t bad for the current century.

Palomo was running around, humming a song that was oddly familiar to Tucker. Was it his bow chicka bow wow song? He felt a small rush of pride in his veins, but he remembered why he was watching this video in the first place. Obviously Palomo had seen something valuable.

“Hey Katie, do you think I should sing that for the talent show?” Palomo questioned cheerfully. “I think it would show Captain that I really respect him.”

Tucker softened his gaze. So maybe he didn’t hate Palomo as much as he liked to act. Big deal. He felt Wash slip his hand into Tucker’s own, not making any other movement to justify the action. It was comforting. Not only that, but it reminded him of Palomo’s claim: ‘You two are like my parents.’ He wondered if Wash knew about that.

“I think we should quiet down. I see something,” Jensen responded, crouching down beside him. Tucker could see her form in the corner of Palomo’s HUD. “We can talk later. What would dad say?”

“He’s my dad, back off! He can be your father-in-law,” Palomo stated confidently.

Jensen nodded. “Yeah.” Her headgear slurring the words slightly. “Wait, what?” Tucker snorted. That was pretty smooth; he was great at this pseudo-parenting thing. He wondered if that’s how Junior got all the ladies.

Within seconds, the HUD was providing info about rising temperature levels. An explosion occurred in the distance, Palomo barked out a curse and grabbed Katie’s hand to pull her to the ground beside him, using the cover of the bush to hide the two of them.

Tucker watched the fire envelop the building of resources. It had been a pirate stronghold--who the hell would bomb their own stronghold? The flames licked up the side of it, engulfing the strong walls that must have been swimming in gasoline. Palomo whispered something in shock, but Tucker couldn’t hear it over the sound of the raging fire.

“What was that--” Palomo began to ask, but Jensen brought her finger to her helmet, making the ‘hush’ signal.

A pair of footsteps crunched in the tall grass just out of sight. “Jesus Christ, murdering these rats like this is going to take forever. Fucking Chorus, fucking Hargrove.” The familiar rise and fall of the voice rang in Tucker’s ears. His stomach twisted into knots, feeling both guilt and anger.

“It’s called patience Felix. It would not hurt to give it a chance.”

Tucker snarled, because of course it was Felix and Locus. “Locus, patience has never been my style.”

“And that’s never been more clear. Now be quiet. We don’t know if we got all of them,” Locus snapped, creeping around the corner, close, too close--he was way too close to Palomo and Jensen. They were just kids, they shouldn’t have to deal with this.

Tucker felt his heart rate pick up. Fucking Felix and Locus, they terrified him even from here. Wash cast him a sidelong glance. Tucker found himself grateful for the sympathy. He knew Wash didn’t understand his horror, no, Wash didn’t feel afraid of them. Wash hated them. He knew he was a match for them, and wanted to engage them, if he wasn’t so concerned about his team, he would’ve gone out on his own already. Wash was a martyr like that. Not to mention a man with long held grudges.

“Who cares? We’ll get them all anyway. I’m bored, now. We could have some fun!”

A heavy sigh followed that. “I know that the Republic may have sated your desires, but we need to focus at this point in the war.”

“Sated my desires? Locus, that’s a really boring way to say sex. You’re so fucking lame,” Felix complained. “You’re just mad because I slept with Tucker.”

“Stop bringing that up. Tucker doesn’t deserve--”

Felix groaned loud, “If you say Wash, I’m going to fucking skin you--”

“Pause the video,” Wash breathed. Felix still ranted and raved in the background, so Wash rose his voice. “Pause the fucking video.”

Tucker swallowed. “Uh, Wash?”

Kimball echoed Tucker. “Washington. What seems to be the issue?”

Tucker knew what the issue was. Felt it himself. Sure, there was going to be useful information shortly, but this was just a video of Felix and Locus talking to each other. Locus’ obsession with Wash, Felix’s history with Tucker. This information was too much, too soon, too private.

“I don’t want to hear about Locus’ desires and I certainly didn’t want to know Felix slept with Tucker.” Wash pulled his hand from Tucker’s. “Why can’t we just skip to the important part?” His ears were red with barely contained anger and humiliation.

“This is important,” Kimball argued. “This sheds light on some of their motivation. Which is clearly you and Tucker.”

Unlike Wash, Tucker saw her point through all of it. “Uh, so what, should I be like bait or something?” He looked over at Doyle who held his head in his hands, shaking it in horror of the inevitable eruption that would come from an angry Washington.

It was funny--Washington was funny like that. He acted composed and in control, but in reality he was barely keeping it together, and incredibly easy to frustrate and fluster. Yet, somehow, he managed to control strategic conversations with his deep knowledge and thoughtful insight made him invaluable to the war room.

So, when Tucker suggested a reasonable tactic in which it would risk less lives--something Wash too stood for, empathized with--it would make sense for him to agree. It would be reasonable of him to work with Tucker on expanding up the idea.

“Absolutely not,” Wash countered brashly.

Tucker threw his hands in the air. “Wash, we need to use actual tactics if we want to beat these guys! I know that I suck at them, so at least let me have this.”

Behind him, he heard a loud huff. “Seriously, shut the fuck up and let Kimball finish the video. You two can have your bitch fight after we’ve all evaluated the situation.” Tucker turned around to see a fed up Grif, holding both hands on his hips, in a similar fashion Donut would.

“Agreed.” Simmons, Sarge, and Donut all sent Tucker and Wash disappointed looks. Specifically Donut, who’s big blue eyes shrunk from their normal state to be narrowed and disapproving. But Sarge’s wariness and Simmons’ blatant anger struck another cord in him.

“I’m sorry,” Tucker apologized. “Resume the video.”

Wash snatched Tucker’s wrist, “Don’t think we’re done talking about this.” Tucker could have predicted the line himself. Wash was always one for dramatic cliche lines. Usually, it was part of the blonde’s charm.

With a brief pause in the room, the video resumed its place. “Where do we strike next?” Came the distant voice of Felix, who must have been walking off now. He always paced. Even Tucker managed to pick that up from the short amount of time they spent together. Hell, the only time he’d seen the man lie down was when it was in bed beside Tucker.

“Felix. There could be bugs, be quiet,” Locus reprimanded.

“Or what? You’ll spank me?”

Locus growled. “Felix.” But the underlying fumes of lust were present. The situation was reminiscent of something Tucker felt in his own life. Their banter faded shortly, and quietly, over comms, Palomo let go of a long breath.

“You think they’re really going to scour alien technology?” Jensen questioned, the choppy lisp of her headgear laced in with her voice. Tucker wondered if Junior ever got his braces off, or if he would have a small slur of his... language, too.

Palomo sighed. “I don’t know, I’m really tired Katie. How do we get back home?” His voice was so defeated. So unlike his normal facade. It was a strange realization that Palomo was more than just the ditzy idiot he pretended to be. Palomo was just a kid who hadn’t even eaten ice cream because the planet had been fighting for so long. The realization stung: Palomo had never known a life where he was truly safe.

“I... I don’t know,” she mumbled, swallowing thickly. “I’m a bit scared.”

Palomo put his hand on her shoulder and straightened up, glancing over the bushes to see if the area was clear of Felix and Locus’ argument. “Ah, what would my dad do?”

Jensen quirked a brow. “Your dad?” Then paused and nodded, remembering what they decided beforehand.

“Aha, that’s embarrassing, I meant: what would Captain Tucker do?” Palomo admitted, sheepish for a split moment. “Or Agent Washington. Wait, I’m getting distracted. Tucker would probably pull out his sword, and creep around the corner--”

Jensen nodded, Tucker could picture her smile. “And then Wash would probably say,” she lowered her voice into something a bit more gruff, “‘Captain Tucker! You can’t go rushing in there! You could get hurt!’” Her voice mimicked the normal crescendo that came along with Wash’s squeaky voice.

“Nah baby, don’t worry, the ladies love the sword!” Palomo exclaimed, doing his best to impression Tucker. “And you--bow chicka bow wow,” he added, smugly, in a similar fashion to how Tucker would. Tucker would’ve been more impressed if the context was different and it wasn’t Palomo.

The video ran pretty smoothly from there. Palomo and Katie actually managed to successfully round up a bunch of younger recruits--younger than fucking Palomo and Jensen, these were literal children. They didn’t deserve this--and bringing them to safety. Tucker ignored the insecurity and anger radiating from Wash. He was still learning how to deal with this. If him and Wash were going to be together, Tucker needed to sit Wash down and talk.

But fuck communication. It never worked with anyone else he had in his life, so he wasn’t about to start right now. If Wash was going to be petty, then so was he.


	10. 10.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker realizes just exactly what he's been feeling, but at the cost of what, exactly? Is he too late? Is their relationship a bit too damaged?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gah, i'm back baby! i've been really sick lately. strep throat, ear infection, and shitty cold virus all at once. so i can't really hear anything right now. i feel like i'm under water! all the time! so that's weird.   
> anyway, thanks to my beta, as always. and thank you all for reading, i hope this chapter makes up for my absence.   
> cheers!   
> x

The tenth time it happened, it was a hand on his shoulder, and the concerned voice of the other aqua soldier in the army. It was before the dismissal of the meeting, when she proposed that the two of them rendezvous at her small place. She rarely had people over (except for Kimball, but every time he mentioned the two of them, she threatened to hurt him) so he felt extremely lucky at the thought. 

 

The meeting concluded fairly quickly, Wash shooting down ideas that seemed reckless, barely looking at Tucker, shoving down his emotions--a classic Washington move, if Tucker had ever seen one. Tucker tried to catch Wash’s eye, more out of curiosity at this point than sympathy--after all, he was angry at Tucker for something that he had no grounds to be angry about. As it stood, Wash continually avoided him, a tremble in his left hand. 

 

Tucker remembered a long time ago he had thought about Wash’s tremble. What he had examined to be a reflexive desire to move his hands, Tucker began to think on how it could easily be more than that. It seemed like the only time Wash was still was when Tucker held him so. 

 

“In conclusion, the Mercs  _ don’t  _ understand the technology on the planet. We have the advantage,” Simmons explained, using a sort of confidence that had come from his many years of dumbing things down for Sarge, repeating things for Grif, and simplifying things for Donut. Simmons had clearly grown as a person and it was very obviously correlated with the interactions with his teammates. “Any questions?” 

 

Everyone seemed pretty contented with the assessments drawn then, after all, they had an advantage, and they had a plan to fix the many mistakes made on the latest mission. With an assured voice, Kimball announced their dismissal. 

 

Which would be when Carolina pulled him aside. “It’s getting late, but we need to talk.”

 

Tucker smirked. “How forward of you, Carolina, I’d love to come back to your room,” he said, far louder than he would need to in any other context. It was worth it when Wash’s shoulder smacked past his, making his exit as quick as possible. 

 

“Tucker.” Would she have given him any other tone: icy, angry, exasperated--he would’ve blown the whole thing off. No, instead the inflections of her voice revealed just how exhausted she was. “Just come on.” 

 

He followed obediently, thinking about all the deflective measures he could take. Ignoring the guilt stirring in his stomach and slowly building it’s way up to his throat. It took his breath, and not in the fun way. No, this time, his mouth was acidic and his chest ached. It felt like the times he would try and hold a knife. 

 

And  _ fuck  _ he thought about how much Wash had cared about helping him feel better in that situation. How often had Tucker left Wash in that suffering? Not offering a helping hand because of his own bitterness? His stomach churned, feeling sick, feeling like... Felix. This was the kind of shit Felix would pull. And he hated it. 

 

“Carolina, I want to come with you, but I need to talk to him.” He shuddered, thinking about Wash returning to his room--no, their room--dejected, confused, that stupid look that would cross his face back when they were stranded when Tucker would say something just a bit too mean, a bit too inconsiderate of everything Wash was trying to do. Wash would be alone. Abandoned. Tucker couldn’t do that to him. Not after everything he knew.

 

Carolina nodded. “I know. I just... he’s more delicate than he’d ever say. He’s been hurt a lot, Tucker. The small things can shatter him--imagine what the big things could do.” 

 

The big things? Like what? He wanted to ask, but she led him toward the hallway and kept her finger to her mouth. He heard a tired sigh, a familiar sound, Wash was standing out there. Running a hand through soft hair, and resumed the gait Tucker knew best of him. His permanent limp that was most prominent when he walked so quickly. 

 

_ What a ridiculous thing to notice,  _ Tucker decided.  _ I sound like a schoolgirl. A  _ hot  _ schoolgirl.  _ He brought his hand to his head, as if he was about to faint. Of course he would notice it. Of course he would notice all of Wash’s different smiles, walking patterns, the way his eyebrows would draw together when he spoke to Caboose, the way he couldn’t meet Epsilon’s eyes, the way he always rose his eyebrows when he spoke to the Reds, the way he still kept his eyes lowered in submission to Carolina, the way his eyes always met Tucker’s. How beautiful they were. A shimmering sapphire, deep as the Marina. Tucker was never a wax poet. Never would be. And that’s why it all made sense.

 

“Carolina. I think I love him.” 

 

A tiny small graced her lips. It was the same one she’d get when she would talk about the good days of Freelancer. So rare, and yet, so fitting. She looked radiant with it. He remembered the story she told about North and York hazing the rookie--Wash--while she and him were just a bit intoxicated. How happy she looked then. And how she had the same look now. “He loves you.” 

 

“Well, that much is clear. But really, who doesn’t love  _ this _ ?” He pretended to kiss his muscles. 

 

She rose her eyebrows. “I mean it, Tucker. If you’re going to go through with this, you need to figure out how to help him. There’s a lot going on in his head. And some of it isn’t his own.” 

 

“I know, but he deserves everything. More than I can give,” Tucker reasoned. “I mean, I slept with Felix. And now he’s upset. But I didn’t know Felix was evil then!” 

 

Carolina crossed her arms. “Look. We both know that’s not the issues he’s having. Go talk to him, champ.” She smirked at the nickname she’d given him and he shook his head in mock disapproval. “After this whole thing is over, we should get a drink.” 

 

“If we survive this whole thing,” he joked. 

 

She caught his eye. “I know we’re going to be fine. We just have to figure out how to win this war. I’m sure there’s a crazy alien technology we can use, and we’ll be fine.”

 

Tucker nodded, feeling a bit better than he had previously. “Unless the Mercs find it first.” They shared a look and laughed. “As if. They have no idea.” 

 

“Yeah, they’re going to need one hell of a knowledgeable guy to fix this mess,” Carolina finished. “Go get Wash, let him know he’s worth it. He’s worth everything we have.” 

 

Tucker snorted. “That’s not a lot.” She shooed him out of the empty war room. He knew the conversation between him and Wash wouldn’t be easy, but Carolina did make this whole thing feel a lot better. 

 

He hurried out, hoping that if he took the fastest route he knew he would be able to catch Wash. No time to amble, breaking into a jog in order to find him. It reminded him of when he was supposed  to meet up with Donut and discuss the whole issue of Wash being in his room. Except this time, he didn’t need anyone to explain anything. For once in his life, he was sure of his course of action. 

 

He approached the door, one that was barely open, but not closed or it would lock. Wash must have had the hope in his heart that Tucker would return to their room after all. He pressed the door open, ignored the lights that were off, and charged towards the form that sat at the table lit by candlelight. 

 

“Wash--” 

 

“ _ What now _ , Tucker?” The tremble in his hand messed up the paperwork he was working on. 

 

Tucker swallowed. “I just want to explain that I didn’t know, okay? I didn’t know Felix was the evilest guy in existence.” Ignoring the real issue, if he didn’t bring it up, perhaps it wouldn’t come to light. 

 

Wash raised his gaze from the end of the table where it was originally leveled. “We  _ both  _ know that’s not the issue, Tucker!” 

 

“Look--”

 

“You’re willing to sleep with Felix, but to you... I’m some kind of fucking disease! Of course I’m jealous, of course I’m hurt! Why him?” In the quietest voice Tucker had ever heard from the man, Wash uttered, “...why not me? Why  _ never  _ me?” 

 

The guilt he felt was overrun with a nausea, a regret, an apology that he wasn’t able to get off of his lips. Wash’s form crumpled in on itself, his eyes drowning in a pool of darkness that seemed to permanently exist around them. Heavy bags from his exhaustion, his emptiness, and he had trusted Tucker with all of it. 

 

“Always... It was someone else. It still is.” Wash’s heavy sigh hushed the candle out. Silence fell.  “I need to finish this paper work, so, just... go to bed.” 

 

Tucker’s forehead creased, he couldn’t even  _ fathom  _ how to fix this mess. Wash had trusted him with everything, and Tucker gave him nothing in return. He thought it would work if Wash could just depend on him--but that wasn’t how relationships worked, was it? 

 

“Wash--”

 

“Shut  _ up _ . I don’t need an explanation,” Wash snapped, and it reminded him of that man he’d met all those years ago. Cold, unforgiving, unaccepting, so utterly helpless and alone. With nothing to live for but himself. Maybe that’s why he fought so hard. He needed to find a reason to be alive, and that was the simple fact that he couldn’t trust anyone else. 

 

Tucker sighed. “Look. The mission is tomorrow, and I don’t want us to be fighting during it. That would put us at more risk than anything.” It was a cheap card to play, exposing Wash’s concern for their health and worry over any sort of causality, but he was running out of options. 

 

“We’re not fighting. You can’t fight with someone who doesn’t want to talk to you in the first place.” Both of them knew how untrue that was--Tucker and Church were a prime example of that. “Goodnight, Tucker.” 

 

Tucker sniffed, and turned away. Collapsing in bed while Wash continued to work tirelessly, reigniting the candle and keeping a silent face while focusing. The tension in the air was thick enough to slice, and it was just another thing adding to Tucker’s struggle for air. Between the tightness in his chest and the lump in his throat, he wasn’t sure if he could bear anymore time in the room. 

 

He stood abruptly, catching Wash’s eye for a brief moment before turning, and with just as much abruptness, deciding to leave the room altogether. All he could think about was Wash’s hurt. His mind supplied the image of Palomo and Jensen mimicking their relationship, it bringing them the courage they needed to keep moving. 

 

How accurate they captured the joking nature that Wash and him  _ used  _ to have. How Tucker would give anything to try it all again. To think more, to think harder, to be a better person for Wash. To address Doyle’s concerns and benefit the army--but most importantly, to give Wash something  _ better.  _

 

He hurried through the halls and into the street of the city. It amazed him how quiet it could get at night, when the large sum of the planet lived here and prepared for war everyday. This was just a group of children--scared children, tired children, ones who had bed times and crashed after hard days of training. 

 

Street lights illuminated his aimless walk. He didn’t know where he was going, he hadn’t bothered to check the time, but it was awfully late. Either way, he couldn’t stay in that room and try  _ not  _ to talk to Wash. After everything that had happened between the two recently, it seemed increasingly less possible. 

 

His datapad pinged. He had forgotten he had even had it in the first place. His heart raced with thoughts of what the message could be. Was it Wash, asking for him to come back? Was it Carolina, telling him that Wash was at her door? 

 

_ I thought kids were supposed to be good at responding. That’s what the Colonel says. Tucker, tomorrow at the last minute briefing before the mission, I want to equip you and Wash with something. -Emily Grey _

 

At reading Wash’s name, his heart stuttered. He had completely forgotten that she had messaged him earlier that day. That was when he was talking to Wash. That’s when he had kissed the smaller man. 

 

He fired back a response just as quick.  _ sorry, dr. grey, got caught up. thanks sm.  _

 

_ What is an sm?  _ Came the immediate reply. 

 

_ so much.  _ He answered, containing a laugh. For all of the intelligence she had, she would never be quite “hip” with the kids. He wondered just how old Emily was. And then the image of Sarge and her together appeared once more and he cringed. 

 

_ In that case, you’re welcome. What are you doing awake? It’s nearly midnight. You have to be awake soon.  _ Was Emily the reincarnation of his mother? He hadn’t been nagged this much since he time on earth before enlistment. (That wasn’t true at all. He spent time with Wash, the epitome of a mother hen.)

 

_ thinking.  _ Was his cryptic text. 

 

_ Oh Tucker, we both know that’s no good for you. Try and get some rest! See you in five hours and forty three minutes!  _ He felt a watery smile cross his lips. It was strange knowing that some people would always be a constant, always give him something to work with. Wash may be the most important person in his life, but it was good that there were others to keep him going. 

 

_ night, Grey.  _ Maybe capitalizing her name was a bit too poetic for him, but that was an issue for another time. 

 

He inhaled the frigid air of the night. Chorus was going to be growing colder and colder. Their winters were fierce--Wash’s smile when he heard the news was potentially the happiest he’d seen the other man. Despite being constantly freezing, Wash loved the winter. He loved seeing the snow; he loved the holidays when he got the chance (but hated admitting it even more because then Caboose would go  _ off _ ); and was overall most content when he got to sit by the fire drinking warm hot cocoa (not coffee, since Tucker knew he didn’t like the taste of coffee) and enjoy the quiet.

 

Tucker wasn’t too big of a holiday guy. His mom was never able to buy presents, he never had any siblings to celebrate with, dad was... well. And nowadays, he still hadn’t seen Junior in a while, let alone been able to send him an actually  _ good  _ gift. Despite it all, seeing Wash’s utter glee, well, Tucker could learn to like the holidays. 

 

On the topic of Wash being happy--did Kimball  _ have  _ to show that part of the video? There wasn’t information that was useful enough to risk Wash’s anger. The man held serious grudges, and would likely do anything to kill Felix. But even worse, he was now angry at  _ Tucker _ . Something that could’ve been avoided if Kimball would’ve thought about in the first place. 

 

He decided he should ask her about it tomorrow, she had to have a reason for why she would put that knowledge out there. As it was, he knew he needed to get back to the room and rest. As much as he liked getting hurt on missions, he’d prefer not to. 

 

But the thought of returning to Wash at the moment--well frankly, it made him feel sick. 

 

He straightened out and headed to the familiar training hall. He was hardly dressed for a tough workout, but he figured in light of recent events, it would make sense to try and conquer his knife issue yet again. 

 

The jog there was pleasant. His face was warm despite the frigid air, and his limbs felt loose and comfortable. The facilities were kept at room temperature, so walking in ended up being a treat. It was a peaceful series of moments in his mind, keeping him distracted from the weight on his chest. 

 

Tucker didn’t bother looking around, instead he headed straight to the weapons rack. He wasn’t here to dilly-daddle (like he normally would during training). No, he was here late at night, and he needed to make the most of it. Fingers cramping up, he struggled to reach for the knife with the shimmering silver handle. It was the same one that Wash had used. Distantly, he wondered if that would make it easier to use, or harder?

 

Without giving it another thought he picked up the blade and held it how Wash had showed him. Brandishing it outward--it reminded him a bit of his sword. Did alien technology have an energy knife? Was there an equivalent? Perhaps he should have studied during basic, but instead he was trying to convince his bunkmate to drink a can of shaving cream. 

 

“Okay, okay, just do what Wash told you.” He pictured the basic steps, how beautiful Wash had looked as he danced across the floor, his grip the perfect amount of strength and control, while still being ready to launch at any moment. 

 

He looked at the wall, how far was he from it? And what had Wash said about throwing? He had been to fixated on how  _ happy  _ Wash had been, how elated he seemed to have Tucker’s trust. The way the blonde moved was enticing to put it simply. Free, not worried about things that don’t matter. The way he had moved was in time with a music that didn’t need notes. Tucker knew it, because Junior and him learned a similar thing with swords. 

 

Not knowing the proper footwork for knife work, he did what he knew best with a sword. He stepped out of a basic ready position into en garde, wielding the knife outward, pretending with all of his might that he wasn’t holding a knife at all. A quick step with his front foot, and lagging just moment behind was his back foot, lazily advancing, he amped up into a lunge and then passing back. 

  
  


_ Pretend it’s your sword. Pretends it’s your sword. Pretend Junior’s here.  _ He couldn’t take his mind off of the thought. He held the knife firmly, or at least he tried to, but he could still feel that stupid tremble of his hand. Imagining Wash beside him, that knowing look he always had when it came to Tucker, his concentrated voice--he felt just a bit better. 

 

Crossing over comfortably before continuing a pass forward, he launched the knife at the wall, hoping his arm replicated the move Wash had made the night before. Of course, his life wasn’t a movie (despite how it seemed) and he didn’t succeed on the first try. The knife rotated poorly and clattered to the ground loudly.

 

Tucker didn’t care though. He had finally picked up a knife, successfully worked with one, and thrown it. It was everything he had wanted it to be. Tears burned in the back of his eyes. Certain to thank Wash, he decided to turn towards the exit and head back to his room. So unbelievably excited about his success. 

 

“I fucking did it!” he shouted, but there was no reply. 

 

Until the overhead speaker answered. “Did what?” The familiar tone of Epsilon. 

  
“Church? What the fuck?” He stopped his celebration. 

 

He listened to Church cough awkwardly, “I mean, uh, what did you do?” The fake gruffness of the voice forced a laugh out of Tucker’s stomach. He brought a hand to his mouth. It was such a classic Church move in a way he couldn’t understand. Something about Church pretending to have better ideas than he really would. 

 

It reminded him... frankly, it reminded him of Alpha. It made him think of Blood Gulch. When Church tried to remake Tucker’s favorite movie because he’d ruined it. The effort he went through to fix it, well, it made up for how shit the amateur film was in comparison to the legendary Quentin Tarantino. 

 

“Dude, I know it’s you.” 

 

In classic Church family fashion, he responded, “who, me? I don’t know who Church is but...” he went quiet. “Yeah okay.” His voice went back to normal. “It’s me.” 

 

Tucker couldn’t bear the long silence that permeated. He needed to settle things with Church, no matter what. “Look, Church, I hate apologies--” 

 

Church sighed. Tucker prepared himself for a lecture, but was surprised to hear Church concede. “Me too, man. Can we skip them?” Skipping them? In some ways, that would belittle what Tucker had been upset about all this time. Yet, the sound of Church’s voice, the sadness, the already standing apology for his actions--it was as good as Tucker would get with the most stubborn man in the world. 

 

Tucker’s heart swelled. “You owe me a beer, as payment.” He put his finger to his lip. “Actually, I’m thinking a whole bottle of whiskey--” 

 

“Dude, I’m a hologram, not a genie. You been talking to Caboose again?” The two shared a small laugh. “But uh, seriously, what did you do? That was cause for celebration... like that.” Tucker could picture him gesturing with his hand. 

 

“Used a knife,” Tucker informed him. “It’s been an issue since...” 

 

“Felix, that  _ fuck _ ,” Church finished. 

 

Tucker nodded. “Yeah, Felix.” He hated how the name tasted on his tongue. “Anyway, what are you doing in the overhead system?” 

 

“Tucker, I’m a busy man,” he said, as if that explained everything. Tucker rose an eyebrow. If Church could see him, he’d know Tucker didn’t believe him. And if he didn’t see him, the message was still pretty clear. “Well, I’m actually running diagnostics on something in the war room. But I maintain access to both the cameras--” so he did see, “and audio. Keeping an eye out for things. Normally I’d power off but... the reason I’m on the overhead system is for...” Tucker couldn’t hear the last part, which was impressive, considering Church was on a literal announcing system. 

 

“For...?” 

 

As soon as Church gave his answer, Tucker could picture his red face. “For Caboose, you fuck!” Tucker started to laugh good naturedly. “Shut  _ up,  _ Tucker. He likes it when I read stories to him before he sleeps. And honestly, he needs it.” 

 

“You can run diagnostics and read a story book  _ and  _ watch cameras all at once?” Tucker gawked. 

 

Church huffed. “I’m a fucking computer program, Tucker. I don’t understand how you all keep forgetting that.” 

 

“How is he?” 

 

The topic change through Church for a moment. “What?” 

  
“Caboose, how is he?” Tucker asked, thinking about the big idiot, cooped up in bed. His chestnut curls and his facial hair that was starting to grow since no one was able to shave it while he was in bed. A small nick could lead to an infection they didn’t want to risk. He missed Caboose’s big smiles--ones that only came up after he hugged someone with an overwhelming intensity. 

 

Church sighed. “Not great, man. You guys  _ need  _ to get that salve, and quick.” Quietly, he added, “we  _ can’t  _ afford to be too late on this thing.” 

 

“The mission is tomorrow,  it should only take a day of travel, a day of retrieval, and a day to return. If that. Is... that enough time?” He thought about Caboose sitting in bed, clutching his insides, crying out for help in his sweet and innocent voice. The pain from the explosion, the radiation from the weapons, choking Caboose. 

 

Church seemed to be having a similar thought, because the speaker shut off altogether. If Church thought too much about other things, his work would get thrown off. It was as if he had a task manager in his brain that could only handle so many programs at once.  _ Church_Emotions.exe  _ must be a large file. Hard to run. 

 

It came back rather quick. “I don't know, right now. But we  _ can’t  _ take any chances. So you need to get rest. I can’t afford-- _ we _ can’t afford to lose him.” The sentiment resonated within him. But it warmed his heart to know how much Church really cared about Caboose if he chose to admit it. 

 

“Okay. Alright. Goodnight, Church.” 

 

Church repeated a goodbye and the overhead speaker crackled softly. Church no longer active. It was weird, to have resolved that, here and now, but it felt... better. He felt like despite it all, he could sleep on the training room floor. He knew better, though, he needed to retreat to his room where his alarm was. 

 

Tucker’s mind seemed suddenly blank as he put away the knife he used and somehow made his way back to the room where Wash sat. The weight on his chest didn’t seem so heavy at the moment, and he didn’t want to bring it back by overthinking. Things would work out, he knew this. Carolina had told him so. 

 

Back in the room, the soft glow of the candle had been extinguished and Wash’s form was twitching in bed. With a sudden realization, Tucker understood Wash’s body was beginning to flail from the usual sort of nightmare that seemed to forever plague him. It took less than two seconds for Tucker to cross the room and dive into the bed. Wash would disapprove--back at Bravo he made Tucker and Caboose promise not to wake him from one, in case he was too dangerous, but that was then, and Tucker didn’t have it in him to let Wash suffer, not after everything. 

 

He shook Wash’s shoulder, “Hey, Wash, hey, dude, wake up.” His grip was not too tight nor too loose, just the comforting kind of firm. 

 

Despite his attention to detail, Wash woke flailing. “Maine, get  _ away  _ from me!” His voice broke and he relentlessly tried to shove Tucker off of him. Tucker’s heart sunk. “Get off of me,  _ please _ !” 

 

“Wash, hey, Wash, hey! Woah, dude!” Without thinking, Tucker pinned Wash’s hands beneath his own--It was second nature. It was how he had managed to fight Wash off whenever they sparred, but it seemed that tactic wasn’t going to work. Wash shook harder, with a fierce determination that differentiated from their play fights and thought out battles. Right now, Wash was fighting for his life. He wasn’t fighting Tucker, he was fighting off the Meta.

 

Wash peeled back his eyelids, pushed with all of his force and threw Tucker off of him. Tucker would’ve put up more of a fight, but he was too afraid to hurt the man. He heard a small bout of near hysterics before Wash broke down. The blonde scrambled backwards, pressing his back against the headboard, clenching his fists violently. Labored breathing and frantic hiccups fell from his frame, and Wash looked more delicate then, than anytime Tucker had seen him. 

 

“Wash. It’s me,” Tucker whispered. “Your least favorite member of Blue?” The joke fell flat. His ears rung and his chest pounded. Everything felt wrong. Sickening. 

 

Wash blinked. “Blue. Fuck. Fuck, shit, I’m sorry, fuck.” Somehow, as he always did, he composed himself in a matter of seconds. Wash was odd like that. He seemed to be having an ongoing crisis, so when he would be overcome with panic, which was rather frequent, he knew how to pull himself out of it within seconds. 

 

“Wash?” 

 

Wash gasped. “Tucker, I--why the hell did you try to wake me up? Don’t you remember what you promised?” His drastic change in tone shook Tucke _ r. Classic Wash, turning his problems around on others,  _ Tucker thought _. _ But he knew that that  _ wasn’t  _ ‘Classic Wash’, in fact, it was a rare occasion for the blonde to do so--only every occuring when Wash was too insecure to deal with what was going on. Classic Wash was taking the blame for everything, even when there was nothing he could do to change anything. 

 

“It was either that or let you suffer, Wash, it’s not like I had much of a choice!” Tucker snapped back, gesturing to Wash’s weak form. 

 

Wash snarled, lips curling. “Because that’s stopped you before. Oh, I’m Lavernius Tucker, I had a sudden change of heart because maybe it can get my dick wet!” 

 

Tucker’s mouth fell open, eyebrows raising. Hurt was the only emotion he could register. He knew Wash was lashing out because he was afraid, but that was a low blow, even for him. They had joked about Tucker’s womanizing tendencies before, but this was just a plain insult. Tucker was too hurt to think straight, and couldn’t stop himself from responding in kind. “Yeah, well, I’m first name Agent last name Washington, and my crippling insecurities make me push other people away when they start genuinely caring about me!” 

 

“Fuck you!” Wash shouted. 

 

“Fuck you!” Tucker ignored the hot tears of anger in the back of his retinas. Silence stabbed the air. Neither of them let out a breath. “Fine, whatever, but here’s what you need to know. Tomorrow is the mission. We need to be professional.” 

 

“You’re really telling  _ me  _ to be professional? That’s rich!” Wash crossed his arms. Despite how angry he was, it was better than seeing him in that panicked state from earlier. 

 

Tucker growled. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about, you arrogant dick! This mission is for Caboose, then you don’t have to talk to me anymore!” 

 

Wash glared. “Fine!”    
  


“Fine!” Tucker echoed. 

 

They stared at each other for a long moment. Anger, loneliness, regret, all of it combining into a sick mess of hormones. Before Tucker knew what he was doing, he was rushing forwards in time with Wash’s quick movements to reach the end of the bed. Melting into an angry and forceful kiss, it felt natural, it felt raw. 

 

Teeth gnashed, Tucker bit down hard at times he shouldn’t, grabbed a bit too roughly, pushed a bit too hard--but Wash didn’t voice his disapproval. Instead, he urged it on, doing a similar thing himself. Wash’s nails, while short, dragged up and down his back. It was hotter than it should be, in some ways, but it only fueled his rage further.

 

He left harsh hickeys, littering Wash’s neck carelessly. Not bothering to be loving about it in the slightest, only targeting the spots he knew would elicit responses from the blonde who threw his head back when Tucker licked a stripe on his neck. 

 

What on earth was he doing? Without a doubt, this would end up being the worst mistake he had made in a while. They had to be awake in a few hours. They had a mission. They were pissed off at each other! But for some reason, all rationale disappeared when Wash licked the underside of his jaw and then bit Tucker’s lip, eyes downcast but wide with the desire for more.

 

Tucker pinned him to the bed, different from just minutes before. This time with the intent to keep him there. Intense kisses, licking into his mouth, dragging his knee up and down Wash’s groin--loving how it made him breathless. 

  
Wasn’t this counterintuitive? Hadn’t Wash accused him of only being in it for the sex? He remembered a word of advice he gave his son before they parted ways.  _ Remember son! Before you do it, think, am I gonna think that was hot later?  _ Worded as crudely as possible, since Tucker had been extremely immature then, the words still had good meaning. Would future him regret this? 

 

With the way Wash’s groan cut off into a whimper when Tucker cupped his ass--maybe he wouldn’t regret it. But when he tried to make eye contact with Wash--he was welcomed with the sight of the man lost in a haze of lust. Tucker decided that regretting this was a possibility, a part of him only wanted to kiss Wash when it meant something. He only felt plagued with honest regret with how he treated Wash recently. How he only kissed him out of spontaneous moments, and not something meaningful. 

 

“Wash.  _ Wash, _ ” Tucker gasped breathlessly when Wash kissed down Tucker’s available skin and thrusted up towards him. It was incredibly hot, his whole body felt on fire, but he shouldn’t, he couldn’t, he wanted to but not like this.

 

Wash huffed, “Tucker, get your pants off.” It was the most seductive voice Wash had ever used, Jesus Christ, Tucker didn’t know what to do. Tucker reached down to slide his pants off, then returned back up to do the same to Wash who rose his hips needily. Excited for the prospect of what Tucker would do when they were both unclothed. 

 

Tucker couldn’t tell anything further than that--he had no idea what was going on in Wash’s head. The man was an enigma, that much was clear. Forceful huffs, throaty groans, Tucker was drawn into seeing where this was going. Pushing up the blonde’s shirt, running his fingers on the soft skin, tracing the scars and the freckles for a split second before he remembered--he was mad at Wash. Wash kept pushing him and pushing him.

 

Wash shoved Tucker up into a sitting position and did what he could to position himself in between his legs. The entire scene was incredibly erotic, what with the way Wash was leaving possessive marks on Tucker’s skin. Thriving off of anger, he would occasionally growl and shoot up to kiss Tucker’s mouth. Despite that, something felt terribly, terribly wrong. Wash wasn’t looking at him, that was what threw Tucker off. Wash had a thing with eye contact: it gave away all of his emotions. If Wash wasn’t looking at him, to show his anger, to show his fear, to show his concern, then what was the point of all of this? 

 

Sex was supposed to be about them. But Wash didn’t seem like he knew what he was doing. Didn’t seem in control, didn’t seem like he wanted to be seen. Tucker couldn’t disagree, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be doing this either.

 

For a few moments, Tucker thought about Church’s desperate voice, breaking into something soft and horrified,  _ “I can’t lose him.”  _ Tucker pictured the man he knew struggling to breathe--Church realizing if something happened to Caboose, he couldn’t live with the guilt. 

 

It was as if Tucker had been punched in the gut. He shoved Wash off of him. “I--Wash, Caboose, and, dude, I don’t--” 

 

Wash scowled indignantly. “You don’t have to throw me off of you.” 

 

Tucker ignored the jab. “Sorry, look, I like sex as much as the next guy--”

 

“So this  _ is  _ only about sex for you!” Wash accused, his voice climbing in pitch. 

 

The accusation was false, but instead of responding rationally (a habit he was indulging in much too frequently), Tucker grabbed him by the back of his head and pulled him in for a meaningful kiss. Tucker wasn’t a relationship kind of guy--never had been. When would he have had the time? All of the Earth systems were engaged in a deadly war against The Covenant. Tucker could barely remember how long that shit had been going for. 

 

But even with his lack of romantic experience, he wanted this to mean something. He wanted to prove to Wash that despite how immature he could act, he was an adult who could make a choice to be with someone. Even if it seemed like his choices didn’t matter. 

 

Breathlessly, he began to pull away. Not getting far, since Wash made a soft sound and dove back in frantically for just a few moments. It wasn’t anything more than a firm press of lips, a desperate affirmation, but in some ways, that was all Wash needed. 

 

“Wash. You’re--” No, he knew better than to accuse Wash. It would lead to defensiveness. Inevitably creating another fight. “ _ I’m  _ not... Look, I won’t. Not tonight. Please.” 

 

Maybe it was his lack of coherency. Maybe it was the use of the word ‘please’, but it clearly meant something to Wash. Some part of his messed up brain--the same brain he needed to get checked out at some point--gave up the fight. 

 

“Tucker, I... I’m sorry.”

 

Tucker nodded. “I am too.” Quietly, he added, “for everything.” 

 

Neither of them said another word. Tucker was sure there’s a lot more he  _ wanted  _ to say. But nothing he could articulate at the moment. He had planned on somewhat confessing to the blonde, being open about this--but in classic Red and Blue fashion, he just seemed to make the problem worse. 

 

He could dwell on all of his racing thoughts and insecurities tomorrow. For now, he needed to rest. Caboose was priority. It was that reminder that had him falling asleep quickly.

  
  


Two pairs of eyes shot open at the sound of the blaring alarm. Blearily, Tucker tried to gather himself. His legs were tangled with Wash’s, his body was comfortably warm. What time had he gone to bed at? What he wouldn’t give just to sink back into the comforter and slip back into rest. His eyelids were far too heavy. 

 

“Good morning, Tucker,” Wash greeted, as if they hadn’t gone through an emotional rollercoaster yesterday. “I wanted to tell you that... I overreacted. I was hurt. I was surprised. I felt as if it was a personal thing. You not sleeping with me,” he paused oddly, and for a moment Tucker wondered why, but it was because he was yawning. “But I see that... the relationship you and I have is obviously drastically different from you and Felix.” 

 

Tucker nodded. “He couldn’t hold a candle to you, though.” It was as close as he would get to saying ‘I love you.’ At least, for now. 

 

Wash brightened at that, his cheeks a light-ish red--was that a thing? “Of course not, Tucker. He’s a murderer.” 

 

Tucker couldn’t respond to that in a fashion that wouldn’t result in a fight, so instead, he maneuvered his way out of Wash’s grip. He thanked whatever God was out there that he set his alarm early enough to allow a little leeway. In his exhausted state, putting on power armor was going to be a fun game. 

 

When he first went to basic, he was told by his RDC that putting on armor would become second nature. That fucker lied, about a lot of things, but in this moment he was specifically mad about that. Armor was habitual, in the front, sure, but clasping the pieces in the back? It made him think of Caboose, and how often Tucker would send him to sleep in his armor because Tucker was too lazy to take it off. And of course, it reminded him of Kai, who had the uncanny ability to put on her amor in the most sensual way. She was  _ elastic  _ in the way she bended to reach certain places _.  _

 

Wash was a different breed altogether. He managed to get it on incredibly fast--no matter what, and maybe that was because he was just genuinely that used to it being his second skin--but regardless, he would curse more than anyone else. Of course, this led to Tucker imagining the blonde taking it off just as fast. 

 

“You ready?” Wash inquired, now that the two of them were securing their breastplates. No need to put their helmets on. Three steps was all it took to be in Wash’s space. Tucker kissed the other man on the forehead, and he smiled when he felt Wash’s entire body heat up. 

 

Wash laced his fingers together and threw his arms behind Tucker’s neck--pressing their foreheads together affectionately. It was a calming gesture, it made Tucker feel grounded. “We’re going to do great, right?” 

 

“For Caboose,” Wash confirmed. Knowing exactly what Tucker had been thinking about. It was that level of intuition that made Wash so valuable. He was a caring friend above all things--even if he was terrible at articulating it. Grif’s stories regarding any pep talk Wash gave the Reds always made Tucker grin. 

 

“Alright, cool.” Tucker pulled his forehead away and Wash followed suit, letting his hands fall back to his side. Tucker motioned towards the door. “Let’s go.” 

 

And go they did. It was a fairly silent walk to the war room. Tucker knew he’d be seeing Dr. Grey, Doyle, and Kimball for certain. What he hadn’t anticipated was the Reds to pile at the door and wish them luck. Despite how they felt yesterday, Red Team would  _ still  _ come support them. 

 

It was almost poetic, in a way. Red Team always seemed to come to their aid. With the Meta, with rescuing Epsilon, with moving into Valhalla, with finding Church--every time something sucked for Blue Team, Red Team was there to help. Grif with a bottle of whiskey and poor advice, Simmons with reassuring knowledge, Sarge with his unwarranted bravery, and Donut with his kindness.

 

In that moment, Tucker decided he would never be deserving of Red Team. They were family. Sarge was the uncle trying to fill in as a father, Donut was the gay cousin (everyone has one), Simmons and Grif were his brothers. Well, not so much Simmons. Bastard liked math  _ far  _ too much. Him and Wash were more similar than Wash would ever admit.  _ Church  _ and Simmons were more similar. The thought made him smirk--he should tell Church about the revelation. 

 

“Grif!” he called, leaving Wash’s side, but not before giving him a reassuring smile. That way he wasn’t abandoning him. Wash seemed touched at the gesture and nodded his head for Tucker to chase after his friends.

 

Grif looked up from his datapad--the only thing keeping him awake. Grif hated mornings, which made his appearance here all the more special. “Hey dude.” A few seconds later he yawned, lazily stretching his arms. “I came to give advice. Don’t die.” He looked to Simmons. “Well, I did my part, time to go back to bed.” 

 

Simmons rolled his eyes. “Tucker, I wanted to give you this prototype Grey and I had been working on. She’ll brief you on it before you go. She uh... actually told me that I should be the one to. Since, I worked so hard on it.” Whimsical, thoughtful,  _ happy _ . Simmons looked like a man who had a family. It was sweet up until Tucker made the connection--Simmons wanted Sarge to be his dad...Which would make Dr. Grey his mother because Sarge and Grey were fuck--he cut that thought off quickly. 

 

“What is it?” he questioned, holding his hands out to receive it. It looked like a round clock mixed with a GPS. It was made of a hard metal and weighed heavy in his hands. 

 

Simmons nodded his head towards it. “It’s a sort of tracker. It’s still not in full function, but it locates dangerous substances from dormant alien technology. See, it’s actually an interesting use of--” 

  
Grif cut him off. “Blah blah, no one cares. Look dude, we were really mad yesterday, I’m still mad, but... You’re our friend. A stupid, dumb, moronic, idiotic--”

 

“I get the point,” Tucker inserted. 

 

“Simple-minded--” Simmons chirped.

 

Tucker sighed. “You’re painting a pretty good picture.” 

 

“Dirtbag--” Sarge added. Tucker cast Sarge a betrayed look. 

 

“Annoying bastard--” Grif helped, again. 

 

“And, all in all, you’re fantastic,” Donut finished, winking. “Keep up the great work, cutie.” 

 

Tucker’s heart swelled. The only thing that could improve this situation was maybe if Church was there, and obviously, Caboose too. He felt guilty not thinking about Wash--but he knew for certain having Wash over here would only cause more unwanted drama. 

 

“Thanks,” he conceded. “Now move, Kimball wants a piece of this.” 

 

Donut smiled brightly. “No she doesn’t.” 

 

Tucker didn’t bother responding (another new habit he’d developed) and caught up to Wash who was chatting with Doyle. The meek General was pestering Wash about being safe and taking care of himself while he was gone. Partially because Wash was his best chance at staying alive, and because Wash was one of those people you can’t help but root for. So close to having one foot in the grave, but always managing to jump out. 

 

“Oh, Tucker, hello there!” Everything about Doyle made Tucker think about _ Star Wars.  _ It was an odd observation to make, but he’d mentioned it before to Grif and Simmons who agreed. This whole fucking planet was a spinoff series made from George Lucas’ imagination--Tucker was sure. 

 

“General Doyle, how’s it hanging?” Never a bad time for an innuendo. 

 

Doyle quirked his head. “Er, it’s hanging, I’d imagine.” 

 

“Not stiff, huh?” Tucker continued on.

 

Wash clipped him upside the head. “Shut the hell up.” He shook his head. “Jesus Christ.” The familiar exasperation filled him with a melancholic nostalgia. 

 

Doyle didn’t look any less confused. “Well, in any case, I’d ought to bring you guys to Kimball. She is just so rude when she’s impatient! I can’t bear it much longer, you know.” 

 

Tucker shrugged. “Trouble in paradise? Hey man, you get used to it.” Wash glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, crossing his arms. “Sometimes... it’s worth it.” Wash coughed into the crevice of his elbow, hiding his face. 

 

Doyle nodded sagely. “Yes, I suppose that is correct. It will all be worth it as soon as those putrid mercenaries are gone!” 

 

“Not... how I would word it, but,” Wash and Tucker caught each other’s gaze, and their eyes shared a laugh. It reminded him of Valhalla, when they slowly grew more fond of each other, and their favorite way of passing the time was humiliating Red Team. When Wash convinced him to put his talent to use. 

 

Doyle huffed. Leading them behind him into the room. Over his shoulder, Tucker watched Red Team disperse. “Alas. Come with me, Kimball is preparing some basic battle plans.” 

 

Tucker stopped in his tracks. “Speaking of battle plans--apparently you’d forgotten to invite me to the briefing of the larger mission.” 

 

Doyle winced. “Ah, that. It was a common mistake!”

 

Wash turned a sharp glare to Doyle. “Tucker  _ needs  _ to be updated on mission briefings, or his life could be in danger. You wouldn’t want one of your best soldiers to get hurt, right? Because, if something did happen, I guarantee you’d be at increased risk.” Wash made it seem like Locus and Felix were the going to be the issues, but it was quite clear he was referencing himself. Tucker couldn’t help smirking now that Wash was coming to his defense. 

 

“Er, right, terribly sorry, I will be very sure to avoid it again! I wouldn’t want to cause any trouble, Major Washington.” 

 

Wash nodded, more content than he was before. “Great.” Doyle skittishly stepped ahead of them. Interlocking hands, on Tucker’s own initiative, made Wash smile. He practically dragged the other man into the center of the room. 

 

“Alright General Kimball, what’s popping?” Tucker asked. 

 

Wash shook his head. “If you’re going to ask it like that, why even be formal about titles?” Despite Wash’s disapproval, it was pretty clear he was amused from the way his lips turned. 

 

Kimball huffed dramatically. “Captain Tucker, Dr. Grey has given you the tracker, right?” 

 

Dr. Grey turned around from where she had been standing. It appeared she was modifying something in the projector. Using an abundance of tools that he was certain she’d never had before. Must be courtesy of Sarge. She was probably holding his hammer--bow chicka bow...no. No, no, no. 

 

Her excited demeanor wasn’t lost, even at this hour, coupled with her sleep patterns. “Actually, I let Simmons do it! I figured the little sweetie would benefit from getting some credit. It was actually Sarge who suggested it two nights ago.” 

 

Wash pointed his helmet at her. “You weren’t working two nights ago--how did Sarge find you?” 

 

“Oh, he knows where my room is!” 

 

Tucker cringed. “ _ Kimball _ , topic change, I’m begging you.” 

 

She laughed in the way that reminded him of Carolina. “I don’t know, I’m quite enjoying your suffering.” He sent her a flat look, and with a few moments to pass, she buckled down to business. “The abandoned hospital is past  _ this  _ quarry. It should be a safe run, since the quarry is abandoned, too, but we haven’t sent scouts there in a few weeks.” 

 

Wash tensed. “Weeks? Felix and Locus work in  _ hours _ .” 

 

Kimball nodded in agreeance. “Right. But, this wasn’t Federal territory or Republic territory. So unless Felix and Locus have been doing some fun adventuring, I doubt they would have any reason to be there.” 

 

Tucker took that for face value. He’d just have to trust Kimball. Wash, on the other hand, had no such qualms. “But we don’t know, do we?” 

 

Kimball lowered her head. “Er, no. But there’s not much of a choice if we want to help Caboose.” Maybe it was a bit of low blow--unintentional or not--but it worked. Caboose was a driving force for the two them. Maybe not six years ago, but after all this time, Tucker couldn’t abandon him. 

 

“Our helmets obviously have heat seeking, so I’m not worried about finding people. I’m worried about doing this in a timely manner.” Arguably the best point in the room. 

 

“I know, I know! We don’t have any other options. You need to make a choice.” Kimball looked at the two of them. Tucker wasn’t sure he wanted to make a choice just yet, so he glanced at Wash. 

 

He put his other hand on his hip. “Either way, we’re going.” That was relieving to hear. “But you should’ve sent scouts. We need to perform more scouting missions, I’ll add that to my paperwork when I get back.” 

 

Tucker groaned. “You’re a fucking nerd. But yeah dude, I agree. I’m first in line to go.” 

  
Wash stared at him, “Yeah. That’s fine. You’ve proved yourself quite a lot, lately.” Tucker could kiss him. He saw the look of surprise on Kimball’s face, the look of success on Doyle’s, and the confusion of Dr. Grey. Funnily enough, it took three of them and more to help Tucker understand how to keep Wash happy. But, really, all it was was allowing the two of them to accept their faults. 

 

He should tell Junior that. Love was accepting someone else’s faults. 

 

“Dr. Grey, what’s the alien thing for?” 

 

Dr. Grey glanced up again, “Research has it there are plenty of contents to find on this planet.” 

 

Tucker dropped Wash’s hand and walked closer, leaning on the table. Quirking his head in confusion. “Anything like this?” He grabbed the hilt of his sword and ignited it. 

 

She nodded. “Yes, but, maybe not. Different planet and  all that.” She shrugged. “We have to secure it, just to be safe. That’s mainly what the tracker I made is for! All alien technology should be trackable via it. Though, it is just a prototype. I’ve been so busy lately, I haven’t exactly had time to perfect it.” A fond smile crossed her lips. “But, with Simmons’ help, it’s come a long way!” 

 

Wash nodded solemnly. “I’d imagine. Being the most advanced Doctor on base, it’s really no surprise your time is always taken by patients.”

 

“Oh, sure! And... well, Sarge has been a distraction too. A good one, but--”

 

Tucker coughed. “We are ready to head out  _ anytime  _ Kimball.” Wash smiled at Tucker’s desire to avoid the thought of Sarge being with someone. 

 

“Come on, Tucker. You’re going to be old one day, too. Eventually you’ll want to have grandpa sex.” Wash patted him on the head. 

 

“Yeah, if I even make it that long.”   

 

“We’re not that lucky,” Kimball joked. The room seemed a bit warmer with the new atmosphere. He pretended to be offended, and earned a shove from Wash. “Head down to the vehicle bay, you can pick up a Warthog and head out.”

 

“Should we take two? I think if we bring some more stuff back, it'd be better for the infirmary,” Tucker pointed out. If they were going, with selfish reasons for Caboose, they could probably bring some other important stuff. 

 

Dr. Grey chirped a response. “Oh, of course! I’m glad you asked--if you two would have the clearance to go on a retrieval mission of that caliber without reconnaissance, I prepared a list just in case!” She glanced to Doyle and Kimball, “do they have the clearance for that level of retrieval, sirs?” 

 

Kimball looked hesitant. “I... don’t want you getting hurt. But, we do have a lot of men in need of help.” 

 

Doyle placed his hands on his hips. “Major Washington is quite the capable soldier.” 

 

Kimball nodded. “And Tucker’s a great captain, okay, I’m in for this plan--but if anything happens, you need to be careful and get out alive. We can’t afford to lose anyone else.”  

 

Everyone in the war room shared a nod. With a few more words of well wishing, Wash and Tucker were ushered down to the vehicle bay where they would begin their first solo mission together. Tucker brimmed with excitement. Today he would prove to Wash that missions like this were in his future, that Wash didn’t need to be so paranoid anymore. 

 

Today would mark the beginning for something completely new.


	11. 11.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting out on the mission, things are expected to go easily. But why would they? This is Tucker's life. Nothing ever goes easily for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will say, getting the next update out mighttttt take a bit. not that i've dropped tuckington entirely, but lately they've had like 0 interaction and obviously that destroys a lot of chemistry. besides, after seeing felix and locus on screen again, i've devoted more time to lolix, haha.   
> however, i do plan to finish this. it'll just take a longer time than i'd thought!  
> thanks for reading, as always though  
> xx

The last time someone would say something about Wash’s behavior was in fact, Tucker’s best friend. Tucker had known with ease that it would be the last time someone said something because he’d spooked Epsilon into silence. 

 

That time, when Wash and Tucker were headed to the cargo bay to load up on equipment, Church appeared in small holographic form on Tucker’s shoulder. Which meant Carolina was both awake and around. Either way, that part wasn’t nearly as important. What mattered was that Church politely--or as politely as the other man could--suggested Wash obtain their equipment and Tucker bring the first Warthog over so that there would be less walking overall.

 

Wash, boner for efficiency, agreed readily after sending Tucker a hesitant smile. Tucker pretended that seeing Wash genuinely happy didn’t affect him that much--but only so that Epsilon didn’t give him shit. 

 

“Tucker, I’ve been meaning to ask you--” 

 

Tucker sighed. “No, I wasn’t the one who was peeking on Carolina. Rumor has it that it was one of the younger recruits.” 

 

Church said nothing for a moment. “Dude, what the fuck? No, that’s not, no.” Well, so far, so good. This conversation had already been successfully derailed. 

 

Tucker kept a steady jog on his trek to get the first Warthog, and relished in the satisfaction that the run was easy. Other than the Freelancers, he was confident he was one of the most useful in this military. His thoughts strayed to how this military was made up of idiotic children, and while some people like Andersmith existed, they were far and few between. 

 

“Okay, I’m going to try this again, and you’re not going to interrupt me,” Church went quiet, waiting, just in case. It reminded him of the time when he was telling the story about Crunchbite and Caboose kept cutting him off. It was a nice memory, and he thought about bringing it up, but was sullenly reminded that this was Epsilon, not Alpha. Church would have no memory of that specific conversation. 

 

Tucker waited for him to say something else. When nothing came, he rose an eyebrow. “Uh, Church? You in there?” 

 

“Yeah dude, hang on, I’m getting information,” Church bit out, seemingly distracted. He fizzled green for a moment. Tucker wasn’t entirely sure on all of Church’s components, but that usually meant that the memory of Delta was working over time. “You remember when you temporarily activated the temple of weapons?” 

 

“No, I don’t remember that giant display of alien technology,” Tucker deadpanned. “I just, I can’t say it was memorable enough, it’s not like I used my sword--” 

 

“Yeah, boohoo, shut the fuck up, you know how Grey didn’t know what the fuck was going on and we got that map?” 

 

Tucker sighed, “Yeah, dude, I was in the room for the briefing. Carolina’s hosting an away team.” That wasn’t that long ago. Tucker would know, he was the one who got to unlock the temple in the first place. For some reason the fucker didn’t work. Caboose was originally supposed to accompany Carolina, but since the should’ve-been-tiny mission, Caboose had been out of commission.

 

“Right. So, we scouted out the area. We can’t go rushing in there, not after what happened with Caboose and his team.” Tucker wanted to comment that Wash and himself were engaging in a mission  _ right now  _ that wasn’t scouted ahead of time, but magnanimously left it unsaid. The last thing he needed was another fight with Church. “So, we plan on leading a diligent party to investigate it entirely. Carolina wanted to bring you along after you’re done with this.” 

 

“You mean after we help Caboose?” It made sense. Carolina would need back up. “Sure, we shouldn’t be gone too long.”  _ Wait,  _ Tucker thought,  _ it doesn’t make sense. Carolina wouldn’t bring me as backup.  _ “Hey, wait, why does she want me along? Doesn’t she constantly complain that I’m half the trouble?” 

 

Church shrugged. “Well, I mean yeah, but... you’d make a nice human shield.” Tucker sent Church a flat look when the bastard had the audacity to laugh. “Nah, your sword could be useful. Besides, I’m sure you know Kimball’s plan with the attack on the Mercs is still going to be put through.” 

 

That was true, the only reason they’d had to stall was because it turned out they didn’t have nearly enough weapons to fight off everyone. No matter how much they’d like to pretend they had everything under control. “Yeah dude, I know. Wash is leading that. And, since the Reds are going, I assumed I was too.”

 

Church shook his head. “Nope, aliens love you too much.” Church broke into a snicker, awfully pleased with himself. 

 

“Yeah,  _ ha ha _ . Laugh it up.” Tucker waited for Church to stop laughing. “Well, anyway, have you told Wash about the plan?”

 

Church winced, his form shrank down--was that even possible? “Yeah, uh, haven’t really gotten that far yet.” He rubbed his neck sheepishly. “I mean, you’ve met him.” 

 

Tucker shot Church a look. “Yeah, and? You know he  _ does  _ have an understanding of the military. He’s not nearly as paranoid as he was before, and he knows that he has a duty.” 

 

“Well, I know that!” Church swallowed thickly. “He’s an enigma is all I’m saying. Just because he knows to follow orders doesn’t mean he has to like them.” 

 

That was a fair assessment. Tucker normally wouldn’t want to side against Wash (unless it came to embarrassing the man) but he did know that Wash was known for making his own orders if it meant saving his team. “So, what, you just want me to placate him?” Did he just use the word placate? That was Wash vocabulary. He didn’t want to be  _ that  _ couple. 

 

Church nodded. “Yeah dude, there ya’ go.” 

 

Tucker’s breath came out sounding exhausted, and it wasn’t because of the brisk morning air. Him and Church trekked in silence for a few moments, almost to the armory. “Look, Wash is making progress. So, if you guys could just... stop making a big deal out of it, that would be great.”

 

Epsilon crossed his arms defensively, flickering. “Hey man, I’m just looking out for you--” 

 

“Church.” 

 

They were silent for a moment. “Okay.” 

 

“When you’re finished, I need to know recommended weapons for the mission.”

 

Church rolled his eyes. “Dude, way to conventionalize me.” Tucker didn’t bother asking what that meant. His English grades sucked when he was younger, no reason to remind himself why.  Besides, he was glad for the change in mood. “Admit it, you think just because I’m an AI I have all the answers.” 

 

“Don’t you?” Tucker quipped.

 

Church huffed. “Well yeah, but I did before I was an AI.” 

 

“No,” Tucker disagreed. “You definitely didn’t. Remember that time with the microwave--” he stopped himself. “Oh, right, you’re Epsilon.”

 

Church sighed. Tucker should’ve remembered, Epsilon didn’t remember all of these things. He’d just been told the basics of the past. “Nah dude, sorry.” It was an awkward standoff for a moment. “You know, maybe sometime, you should let me have access to your implants. If I can look around your memories, maybe I’ll be more caught up.” 

 

A honest to god smile crept upon his face. He felt like he was having more of those lately. Like things were looking up in this god forsaken military. “Yeah, that’d be awesome.” He looked at Church seriously for a moment. “Stay out of the home folder.” 

 

“Gross!”

  
  


Wash pulled up in the Warthog,  looking content. “Jensen does a great job fixing these things, it’s really a tragedy she wrecks them.” 

 

Tucker smirked, dropping a few weapons into the back of Wash’s vehicle. Afterward, he placed a few extra rounds of ammo. Double checking that Wash had his usual battle rifle, he waved a hand. “That’s okay, Caboose destroys them too.”

 

“He can get back to destroying them as soon as we get back,” Wash mumbled, and if it weren’t for the helmet, Tucker probably wouldn’t have heard it. “Now, hurry up and hop in. We have to go grab the other warthog before we can head out.” 

 

Gloved hands snatched Tucker by his gauntlet and pulled him into the back. It was elating, and it stole his breath to have the familiar, comfortable contact. Wash wasn’t shying away from him. Tucker let out a shaky breath of relief at that.

 

Grabbing the other vehicle was a quick process. Tucker attempted to talk to a few standoffish Feds that clearly didn’t want to be awake at this time in the morning, but due to his status as former New Republic scum, they brushed him off pretty easily. Wash blinked impatiently, and said something that must have been threatening enough to their training regimen that they quickly let Tucker get the Warthog he needed. 

 

He slid into the driver’s seat and sent Wash a thumbs up, calling out that they should race. You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink, or alternatively, you can show a SIM trooper how to be mature but you can’t take the idiot out of him. Tucker pondered the metaphor and decided it was too much of a stretch to voice out loud.

 

What he  _ hadn’t  _ expected was Wash to take him up on the offer. His warthog squealed when he slammed on the gas. And, what Tucker hadn’t expected even more, shouted for him to keep up. Fondness swelled up inside him and competitiveness reared its head. Tucker was going to kick his ass. 

 

He cranked the wheel and sped towards the entrance that Wash was already approaching. He’d wanted to take his helmet off--feel the wind on his face, but spared himself the impending lecture if he were to remove it. 

 

“Slowpoke,” Wash laughed over the comms. 

 

Tucker didn’t think it was possible to go faster, but the jeep didn’t let him down. Steadily he caught up with Wash. “Don’t tell me you’re going easy on me, old man.” 

 

Wash gasped. “Did you just call me old? Gross, Tucker.” 

 

“Old,” Tucker responded. 

 

Tucker could picture Wash’s eye roll. “Yeah well, you like this old man then.” 

 

With a quirk of his lips, and the use of a deeper voice than he needed, he said, “Like that old man a lot, actually.” 

 

He could practically feel Wash’s burning cheeks. “Excuse me?” 

 

Tucker smirked. “You heard me.” He  _ needed  _ to win this race. For his honor, of course. How to best win it? He would have to distract Wash enough. “Heya baby, what would you do if I was in that jeep with you?” 

 

He heard Wash sputter over the radio. “ _ Tucker,”  _ he stressed, “we have audio logs.” 

 

Tucker snorted softly but realized that Wash wasn’t going along with the play. Huffing, he said, “turn them off then.” When Wash said nothing, Tucker added, “unless you  _ don’t  _ want me to dirty talk you while you drive.” 

 

“This is outrageous. When did my life become so embarrassing?” Wash lamented.

 

With a grin, Tucker informed him it was because he joined up with the SIMS. “And you’re dating a sexual deviant,” he tacked on casually. Not even thinking about his use of the word ‘dating’. Donut would give him so much shit for that if he’d have heard. 

 

“Fuck, Tucker, you’re going to send me to an early grave.” 

 

Tucker laughed softly. He sucked in a breath, “Wash, you come here often?” 

 

“Fuck you,” Wash responded. 

 

Tucker wished he could be there in person with Wash. He realized the notion was stupid, since Wash wasn’t far ahead--Tucker’s plan was working--but he still missed seeing Wash shrug, or sigh, or cross his arms in judgement. “Wash, you can’t imagine the things I’d do if I was there.” He wanted the line to come across as intimate, bordering on smutty, but it was too heartfelt. 

 

If Wash noticed, he didn’t say anything. Tucker’s vehicle seemed to be catching up steadily with each moment. There was no way Wash was that distracted already. Wash must have been simply slowing down. “It’s okay, I want to be close to you, too.” 

 

So that was it. Wash’s car slowed to his speed. The blonde man drove side by side him for a moment, nodding his helmet. “Am I the only one not feeling the vibe?” 

 

Wash shrugged. “You? Not feeling horny? Am I speaking with the right man?” 

 

Tucker snorted. “As badly as I want to fuck you in a jeep--” he heard Wash’s breath stutter--“Wow, Wash, would you like that? Like the risk? Like to feel me fucking you into the seat?” 

 

“Shit, Tucker,” Wash muttered, speed decreasing significantly. Tucker felt his entire body heat up, the warmth of everything bouncing off of his armor. He wondered if Wash was feeling the same thing, and decided that he  _ hoped  _ he was. He wanted Wash to feel hot and bothered--maybe he always had. 

 

“Maybe next time we have to drive together, I’ll leave a toy in you so you have something to do on the ride. How’s that sound, baby? You like that?” Wash whimpered over the line. Tucker knew, realistically, Wash probably wasn’t  _ that  _ into it, but playing along always made the experience hotter. “I’d have the remote--keep you alert all times.” 

 

Wash hummed breathily over the line. “Sounds like a challenge to me.” 

 

Tucker laughed. “Dirty talk is more fun when I can see your reactions.” After a few seconds, he said, “you’re welcome to sext me.” 

 

“Christ, Tucker.” 

  
  


The rest of the drive was uneventful, save for Tucker’s unwarranted gloating about ‘technically’ beating Wash there. Wash allowed the familiar banter and argued that Tucker only won because Wash actually cared about maintaining his fuel supply rather than run it down like a moron. That was Tucker: the moron. 

 

They hopped out of their vehicles. Wash, gracefully, hardly making a sound as he landed on the ground. Tucker had no such qualms when it came to launching himself from the vehicle into a dramatic tuck and roll, pointing his gun outwards and whipping around dramatically, pretending he was in an action movie. He deepened his voice and quoted Arnold Schwarzenegger _.  _

 

As far as abandoned buildings went on Chorus, this one looked properly haunted. Once pristine white walls were destroyed. Parts were crumbling, paint was peeling, and sand and dirt painted murals on the sides. Near the door he was certain he saw bloody hand prints but if you asked him he’d deny it. This was their only chance.

 

Upon entering, the temperature level dropped dramatically. Tucker voiced this to Wash, making a joke about ghosts, and then an innuendo about being inside of one. 

 

“Only you would want to fuck a poltergeist,” Wash sighed. 

 

Tucker shrugged. “You don’t know till you try.” They walked side by side for a few seconds, Wash’s hand interlaced with Tucker’s hand. “And really dude? Did you just call it a poltergeist? Top tier nerd.” 

 

Wash rolled his eyes, pulling his hand free. “On that note, we’re splitting up. The building’s been abandoned for a long time, so we have no intel on where the salve would be. The ingredients should appear on your screen... now.” Perfect timing, as a list of gigantic words scrolled across his HUD. 

 

Tucker huffed dramatically. “I have to read  _ everything  _ looking for this? Fuck me, dude.” 

 

“Yeah, not now.” Tucker winked at him suggestively. “We have to prioritize.” Tucker stepped closer. “But seriously, Tucker, your helmet should pick up readings of the ingredients. It’s your job to match it  _ in case _ . Dr. Grey knew you’d be lazy.” 

 

“I love it when women do the work for me.” They both frowned. “That was...” 

 

“Poorly worded,” Wash finished. “Yeah, we’re definitely splitting up. I’ll take the upstairs, you take the downstairs.” 

 

Tucker blinked a couple times processing what Wash said. “ _ What _ ? I get the spooky downstairs? That’s such bullshit.” 

 

“That’s rank, Captain.” Wash pat him condescendingly on the shoulder. “And as I always say--” 

 

“Yeah, rank is privilege. Get the fuck outta’ here, dude.” Wash pulled their helmets together for a moment. A subtle way to remind Tucker how much he cared. Perhaps, too, a gentle wish of good luck. 

 

Within seconds they parted. Tucker and Wash turned in opposite directions. Tucker followed a sign that hung from a chain on the wall--he assumed it used to have two chains holding it parallel--that gestured for him to take a left and he would reach the stairs that led to the basement. 

 

Floorboards creaked underneath his heavy armor. He figured the technology on the planet would’ve allowed for better facilities, but perhaps that was the reason this one wasn’t nearly as badly raided by pirates or scavengers. 

 

The entire hallway was dead silent save for himself. Tucker was barely stopping himself from messaging Wash to ask for an open channel. The only thing stopped him was that the last thing he wanted to deal with right now was being made fun of. He needed to focus, and if him and Wash were going to be making fun of each other, Tucker wouldn’t manage to accomplish anything. 

 

Briefly he wondered if that was why he hated having Wash as a Drill Sergeant so much. Or if the problem was him staring at Wash’s ass too much... He buried the thoughts and shook his head. Focus. Caboose needed him. 

 

Earlier, before they’d arrived, he’d seen some tracks but he wasn’t entirely sure how fresh they were. Wash talked about what that meant, a couple years ago in Valhalla, but Tucker hadn’t been listening then and he didn’t want the lecture about not listening now. 

 

He crept around the corner of the stairwell and leveled his gun looking for any movement. He wasn’t sure why he felt on edge, but his stomach churned uncomfortably. Where was Wash? Controlling his urge to tap his HUD and reach out, he forced himself to pay attention. Each step he took in order to descend down further was deliberate. Breathing at a steady pace.  _ No need to be nervous,  _ he quelled his own thoughts. 

 

Ghosts weren’t real. Simmons said so. Scientifically, there was no evidence of them existing. Therefore he was safe. 

 

He exited the stairwell and looked down the foreboding hallway. No light illuminated it, so he was forced to use night vision. A grainy green texture encompassed his screen. Focusing all of his thoughts on his sight, he was startled to hear a squishing sound when he stepped down. He swallowed thickly, figuring it was better to not look and pretend he hadn’t heard it. As he stepped off, he heard the squelch again.  _ Gross.  _

 

Unsteadily now, he trekked forward. Wash was lucky, that was for sure. Tucker glanced around warily, when he saw open passages, he would duck his head inside of them and run a scan searching for the ingredients. Hopefully Wash was having better luck than he was. 

 

All of the passages no longer had doors--if they even had them in the first place. Tucker’s heart pounded with anticipation. He just wanted to find the medication and leave. _ Save Caboose and then you can escape this hellhole.  _ Skin crawling, gooseflesh adorning his arms, every single moment felt like too much all at once. His breath came short. What the  _ hell  _ was going on in this place?

 

As he neared the end of the hall, he knew he would have to turn back soon. There was one last door waiting--and, surprisingly, this one had a door. The front part of the door was dark and metallic. A see-through portion was made into a little window about five feet up. There was a plaque on underneath the window, but it was cleanly snapped in half--the other piece nowhere to be seen. He checked the ground below him, searching for answers there, but found none. The other portion had vanished.

 

[_____ RIUM]

 

_ Fuck,  _ he thought. What words ended like that? Aquarium? No. Not in a hospital! That thing he went to in primary school? That wouldn’t be here either. Auditorium? That must be it. It was the only candidate. 

 

He wished he studied more in his younger days.

 

Pushing past the door, he looked around. His HUD blinked to life, alerting him that one of the components seemed to be present. He examined the meaning--some sort of natural gas? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? He still stood by the door, not letting himself to into the room yet. Something seemed different about it, something that made it unique. He attested it to his success at finding something involved and hoped that if he got closer, perhaps he would find the salve.

 

He stepped further into the room, eyes scanning the room for any sign of Caboose’s rescue. All he found instead was a pine box. What a weird auditorium. He bent down to investigate the box, but halted when he heard a sound. 

 

He shot up into a ready position, glancing around carefully. Nothing. Steadying himself, he wrote it off as imagination.  _ It’s gotta be. God, Wash is gonna give me so much shit for this.  _

 

Glancing at his HUD, it informed him that it found some of the other items. Tucker scowled. There was nothing in here. The natural gas still seemed to be the most prevalent which didn’t make sense, but Tucker knew better than question Dr. Grey. 

 

He considered what would happen if he were to illuminate his sword. Sure, he would be able to see just a bit, but it would also confuse his night vision.  _ Fuck it, it doesn’t matter.  _ He reached for the hilt of his sword, and felt his heart stop when it wasn’t there. 

 

The door slammed. 

 

Tucker felt his heart hammer in his chest. It took two steps for him to reach where the entrance was sealed. His breath caught in his throat. On his HUD, he desperately tried to get ahold of Wash. The line buzzed a few times, before going dead. Wash messaged him in disappointment, telling him to pay attention to the mission and keep him posted if he found anything. 

 

Giving up on thinking, he slammed his fists on the door. “Hey, this isn’t funny!” 

 

The other side of the door rumbled. Something was behind it, more importantly: someone. Someone had slammed the door, someone else was here besides him and Wash. 

 

Outside the door something was bright and white, it flickered rapidly--it must have been a light. Whatever it was that had slammed the door, also had access to the lights that Tucker had assumed to be long dead. 

 

A loud whirring sound shook the building, it reminded him of the power generator back at Blood Gulch, until he realized, that’s likely what it was. This building wasn’t out of working order, it had just been shut down. The lights hadn’t worked when Tucker tried because there had been no power generating. And here he was, trapped in this tiny room--far too tiny to be an auditorium, but he couldn’t fathom what else it could be--with no way to get out. 

 

Familiar laughter rang behind the door. “Oh, Tucker, it is  _ good  _ to see you again.” 

 

“ _ Felix.”  _

 

A message appeared on his HUD, it was Wash texting him quickly, asking what was going on in a series of worried and confused messages. He must have felt the shaking too, and the lights probably resumed working condition upstairs. 

 

Felix’s face appeared in the window of the door--he was straining to get his full face to fit, short bastard. “You know Tucker,” Felix began, and Tucker was almost tempted to tell him that being too short and muffled was not a good look on him. Much less threatening. “I really have missed you.” 

 

Tucker snorted, feeling protected despite the fact that he was in some ways at Felix’s mercy. His heart pounded against his chest and he was still terrified, that was for sure, but the comedy of the situation kept the horror at bay. “Something tells me,” Tucker drawled, “that’s a fucking lie.” 

 

Felix knocked on the window. “Sorry, what’s that Tucker, I can’t hear you!” 

 

Tucker furrowed his brow. Is this guy retarded? “Yeah, no shit asshole, how do you think you sound to me?” 

 

Comically enough, Felix’s face drew into that ugly frown that he wore. Now that Tucker was thinking about it, Felix kind of looked like a rat. The angular features, the snubbed nose, the pointy eyes--all of it reminded Tucker of a  _ rat _ . What Locus saw in him, that was a mystery to Tucker. Although, he figured Locus was battling with the same dilemma. Who’d want to spend the rest of their days next to the dangerous sociopath who belonged in the sewer?

 

“The only reason I haven’t killed you is because I don’t understand this fucking sword. It doesn’t seem to be working and I need you to tell me how to make it work,” Felix commanded, holding the hilt of the sword against the window. 

 

Tucker scowled. “You just said you’d kill me if you found out, why the fuck would I tell you?” 

 

From behind the window, Felix seemed to be reconsidering. “If you  _ don’t  _ tell me, I’m going to torture you.” 

 

Torture. Right. 

 

_ Wash stood in front of both Tucker and Caboose, gesturing to a picture he’d drawn on a ratty piece of paper. It was a flow chart, detailing the ins and outs of torture. How useful it was in varying situations and how to withstand it.  _

 

_ Technically, according to Wash, physical and mental torture were likely to procure useless information. Those being tortured often give the first information they can conjure to protect themselves. Whether or not it’s true, it’s oftentimes just whatever the captor wants to hear. Which is why most militaries turned from it. It wasn’t useful. Morals had nothing to do with it.  _

 

_ “Ah, yes, Agent Washington, you seem to know a lot about torture,” Caboose noted, scribbling something down in his ‘notes’. It was really just a bunch of drawings--fairly detailed plans for building a robot, but at least Caboose had the decency to pretend to be doing work.  _

 

_ Wash nodded in that cryptic, all knowing way, he always has. “Yes, Caboose. Yes I do.” _

 

_ Tucker quirked an eyebrow. “You’re gonna give Caboose nightmares, dude. Can we just call it a day?”  _

 

_ Wash narrowed his eyes. “After we try something.” Wash practically materialized at Tucker’s side to pry off his gauntlet.  _

 

_ “Woah, what the fuck are you doing dude?”  _

 

_ Wash said nothing, only rolled up Tucker’s kevlar suit and waited for a few seconds. Then, without warning, he mercilessly dug his fingers into the spot next to Tucker’s veins. “Tucker, tell me I’m the best leader ever.” His tone was demanding, but there was still a note in there soft enough to make it Wash.  _

 

_ “Ow, ow, ow, fuck off dude, ow!” Tucker shouted, trying to pull his arm out of his grasp.  _

 

_ Wash’s other hand snatched it and held him in place. With a cold look in his eyes, Wash held his gaze. “Then say it.”  _

 

_ “Fuck, okay! You’re the best leader, ow,” Tucker cried. “Why’d you do that!”  _

 

_ “You said what I wanted to hear. In a torture situation, you need to wimp out and transcend the pain.”  _

 

_ Tucker gawked.  _

 

_ “Tomorrow,” Wash began smugly, “I will teach you how to force yourself to pass out.” He looked both Caboose and Tucker over, then handed Tucker his gauntlet back. “Dismissed.”  _

 

Felix pounded on the door. “Hey, excuse me, have you been listening at  _ all _ ?” Tucker couldn’t see his posture, but he was certain the bastard had a hand on his hip. “Who is with you? Where are they?” 

 

Tucker shrugged. “I can’t really say I remember, sorry Felix.” 

 

“You  _ fuckface, _ ” he sneered. “Fine, we can play that way.” Up against the window, Felix held up an odd remote-looking thing. He made a show of pressing a button, and pointing behind Tucker’s head. Next to Tucker, the white metal of the walls began to draw upwards. Similar to a garage door, some soft of system was suspending it to reveal a strange hole in the wall. It was dark and empty. “Just remember, Tucker,” Felix started, “you always liked to boast about how hot you were.” 

 

Rocket-ship level fire roared out of the hole, enveloping the pine box and burning it to a crisp. Tucker pressed himself flush against the door, containing the scream that threatened to rise in his throat. He needed to contact Wash, needed to get the fuck out of here, but he could feel the searing heat even through his protective layers of suit and armor. 

 

It itched, it felt like someone was running their nails up and down--the speed increasingly tearing flesh. He should have realized a lot sooner, but this was not an auditorium. This was a crematorium. This was an old fashioned hospital. Tucker was on the verge of being burned alive. 

 

“Hey, let me the fuck outta here!”  _ Wimp out.  _ “Felix!”  _ Distraction, remember how to get out.  _ Get a hold of Wash, that was the first step. Everything in his mind was whirling around, the maelstrom of thoughts were inhibiting his actions and it made him want to tear his brain out.  _ Turn off your brain, rely on survival instincts.  _

 

“I don’t know,” Felix answered, “I don’t know if I care enough about the sword to stop hurting you. I think it'd be really fun to watch you burn to ash.” 

 

Tucker swallowed. “I’m here with a small team!” Bullshit, it was bullshit, but it was a lie and it would buy him time. “We’re looking for something. Apparently this hospital has it.” 

 

Felix sighed and turned off the fire. “Yeah, no shit, didn’t they tell you what this hospital is?” When Tucker said, no, they didn’t tell them shit--because that was true--Felix continued. “This was an underground medical hospital for ONI operatives! All the shit here? It was to help during the Great War, moron.” Slamming his hand against the door, he said, “that’s right, you wouldn’t know about that. You were too  _ useless  _ to fight in that.”

 

_ Hold your tongue,  _ Wash’s voice echoed in Tucker’s mind.  _ Be limp, be unresponsive. You’re not James Bond, quit acting like an idiot, Tucker.  _ Wash was right, he was hotter than James Bond. 

 

Tucker shot a message to Wash, not bothering to explain what was going on.  _ ‘R/V, 2 levels below, stat.’  _ It was vague, and Wash would likely be mad at him for it later, but Tucker needed to prioritize. No time to craft a detailed message, let alone think about the pain that swelled in his back. Blistering, burning, hot and aching--it was everything all at once. 

 

“Now, Tucker, how long do I have before I need to leave you here? Unfortunately today’s information only. See, I asked Locus if I could  _ just-- _ ” Felix stopped, his eyes tearing away from Tucker’s helmet and staring at something down the hall. His posture was rigid and his stance was defensive. Whatever he was looking at, it meant trouble for him. 

 

Trouble for Felix meant rescue for Tucker. 

 

“Shit!” Felix cursed. 

 

A bullet whizzed past Felix’s head. “Felix!” Came the bark of a  _ very  _ angry Agent Washington. The way a mother would be with her young, Washington would do  _ anything  _ to protect his team. Tucker pressed himself against the door and slammed his fists, doing anything he could to make himself known. 

 

Without hesitation, Felix switched back on the roaring flames. They were so loud and hot, Tucker could feel sweat drench his skin. Kevlar was fire resistant, not fireproof, and that had never been more apparent in these moments of misery. 

 

Distantly, he heard shouting between the two outside of the room, but between the pain and the sound of the jetting flame, Tucker wasn’t sure he’d ever hear properly again. It felt like... well surprisingly, it felt like being drowned. He was no stranger to being held under water a little too long. Knew the bile in his throat was his panic, knew the ringing in his ears was his terror--every other sound muted to his mind. 

 

Or was that him shouting? He pressed himself into the door, choking back a sob, and shrieked Wash’s name as loud as he could. Desperately hoping to make himself more know, he threw himself against the door again  _ and  _ again  _ and  _ again.  _ Wash has to hear me, he has to know he needs to work fast.  _

 

With a hideous creaking sound, rushed by the force of it closing, the jet came to a stop. 

 

“Listen well, Washington!” Felix bellowed, sounding crazed and angered. Tucker struggled to catch his breath, and ducked down to view out the window. Felix and Wash were locked in a stalemate, guns completely abandoned, now both brandishing knives menacingly. It was a talent standoff, and were Tucker not in such immense pain and immediate danger, he’d almost find himself intrigued as to who was the best. “This remote controls whether he lives or dies.” 

 

Wash sneered, and for a second, Tucker didn’t register that both of them had abandoned helmets. Felix’s visor appeared to be shattered, and Wash’s seemed a little busted itself. “My knife controls whether you use that remote.” 

 

“I have your sword, too, if we’re cutting corners.” 

 

Wash growled. “I will stab you.” 

 

“Not before I burn your precious Lavernius to pieces,” Felix quipped. “Come on, Wash, let’s make a deal. Your choice.” He toyed with his knife, holding it above the button that dictated Tucker’s fate. “So, you let me live--” 

 

Washington growled. “Not likely.” 

 

“ _ Christ _ man, will you let me finish?” Felix snapped. “If you try and kill me, Tucker will already be ash. So, in exchange for sparing Tucker, I want two things. To live, and to understand this sword.” 

 

Tucker banged on the door. He was screaming for Wash to ignore him, that he should just kill Felix while they have the chance, but Wash wasn’t listening. Wash saw a way to save Tucker, and for that, he would always make the wrong choice. “Give me the sword and I’ll tell you what I know,” Wash bargained, his voice pure ice. 

 

Felix huffed, but lifted his into the air and dropped it onto the ground. He motioned for Wash to do the same. Wash narrowed his eyes but lowered his weapon as well. Ironically, Tucker knew, the two of them could easily grab a knife out of their armor and throw it in seconds--that the precaution they took was just a temporary figure. Sliding his fingers down slowly, he turned to Tucker and winked in a lavacious way, as if he was putting on a show. 

 

“Stop it,” Wash barked. 

 

Felix quirked an eyebrow, playing coy. “Stop doing what? I’m just  _ grabbing Tucker’s sword. _ ” The shit eating grin on his face made Wash twitch angrily. “It’s pretty  _ big _ , you know? Fits  _ really  _ nice though.” 

 

“Stop  _ it,  _ Felix,” Wash growled out. 

 

Felix stopped. “He hasn’t let you yet, has he?” When Wash cast his eyes downward, Felix burst into malicious laughter. “Oh, that is  _ just  _ adorable. You know, I would say he’s saving it till marriage but...” He glanced down at his own body and smirked. 

 

After a few moments, Felix threw the sword and clattered on the ground beneath Wash’s feet. “The sword is binded to the user. It’s alien technology. He found it a long time ago. That’s all we know.” Wash took a menacing step closer, but it was useless. Felix had the upper hand over him. Anything Wash did was simply a bluff. “Now give me the remote and run.” 

 

“How do I know you won’t shoot me the second I give it to you?” 

 

It was a fair question, even Tucker would admit that. “I would say you don’t,” Wash said, “but I suppose that’s not good enough of an answer for you.” 

 

Felix rose an eyebrow. “If we go to the stairwell,  _ civilly,  _ we can trade. I will throw you the remote from the top of the steps. Besides, it’s useless if it’s that far out of range. Therefore, you have to run back to your boyfriend and... well, we go on our merry way. A fair choice, if I do say so myself. I always come up with the best plans.”

 

“You going to run back to your boyfriend too?” Wash asked bitterly. “Or, wait, he doesn’t particularly want you, does he? You can have a fun time explaining how you lost against us again.” 

 

Felix fingers went for a knife. “Son of a bitch--” 

 

Wash drew one at the same time, and in seconds they were at each other’s throats. “I’m going to walk you to the stairwell, and then, next time I see you, we can follow through with this.” 

 

“Next time I see you, I’m going to watch you choke on your own fucking blood. Don’t get snappish with me, Washington.” 

 

It was funny to Tucker. Both of them making full threats, but being able to do nothing about it at the moment. Wash really did plan to murder Felix. Felix really did desire to watch Wash suffer more than anything. Tucker wondered how he fell into that category. Would Felix torture him in front of Wash if they met again in that scenario? Who did Felix hate more? Probably Wash, if his reaction about Locus was anything to go by. 

 

Wash hurried to the window, and pressed a hand against it. “I’ll be right back for you, Tucker. I will. I’m sorry I let this happen.” And just like that, he was prisoner style-escorting Felix to the stairwell down the hallway. 

 

Tucker slunk to the ground, ignoring the gorish pain in his lower back. Dr. Grey would fix them up. He’d lay in that stupid fucking hospital bed--but better him than Caboose. If he was lucky, he would get out of this without nerve damage. 

 

When he was younger--and he certainly was young, after all, back then humanity's greatest threat was itself--he was quite the troublemaker. It'd been a gathering around a campfire and him and some of the other delinquents from school were a bit too drunk--a few of them were even injecting things into their veins. A girl, and her name was long forgotten from Tucker’s memory, fell into the burning heat. Between her sluggishness and her high, her rescue was long awaited and she suffered third degree burns. Tucker remembered so vividly the way her skin tightened like leather and blistered sickly. 

 

Wash pulled him from the memory with a fist, banging on the door. He must not have been able to see Tucker. After all, Tucker had just acquainted himself with the ground, out of view of the window. “Tucker? Tucker!” 

 

“I’m here,” he called weakly. 

 

With a click, the door was opened. The jet was shut, and despite it not even being on, a wave of relief washed over Tucker. Wash was here, Wash came to help him, and they were going to save Caboose--everything was fine. It was fine. It was fine. He was fine. He was... so tired. 

 

“Tucker, hey, are you okay? What’s--” his breath caught when he saw Tucker’s back. Tucker wasn’t sure what exactly he was looking at, but from the tremor in his voice when he spoke again, Tucker would tell you it wasn’t good. “I’m going to fucking murder Felix.” 

 

“Cool, great... can we... ‘M tired, Wash. Let’s go.” 

 

Wash wrapped his arm around Tucker’s shoulders, and Tucker nearly hollered at the pain. He knew though, realistically, he wouldn't be able to walk properly on his own. His entire backside where the armor didn’t cover  _ hurt.  _ Some parts were burnt worse than others and he would need Wash to help him through this. So instead, he simply winced and let Wash half walk-half drag him out of the room and building altogether. 

 

“We got it, right?” Tucker asked, praying to god it was a success. 

 

“Yeah, Tucker. We got it,” Wash confirmed. 

 

That was the last thing Tucker heard before he passed out. 


End file.
